


Into the Dark

by likeabluethread



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeabluethread/pseuds/likeabluethread
Summary: Sesshoumaru and Kagome are kidnapped by the Jem'Hadar, and Kagome ends up stranded on Deep Space Nine. How will she adapt to life without Sesshoumaru? Why in the world were they brought there, anyway? Sess/Kag. (Old fic, just realized I never brought it over here from ff.net!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic that I just realized I'd never pulled to AO3 from my abandoned account at ff.net. But the sillness must be preserved, right? 
> 
> This is the goofiest thing I've ever written. Thing is, it took root in my brain and I just couldn't get rid of it until I wrote it down. 
> 
> Some warnings:  
> 1\. This is a Sesshoumaru/Kagome story, but it's not the kind of story meant to convince you of them as a couple. They start out married. In fact, this is kind of a sequel to another story I'm writing, but it's not finished yet (and as such, not online). I get that this pairing isn't everyone's cup of tea, but it's the fundament of the story, so ... um, reader beware?  
> 2\. Things do get explained, but some of them take a while. I've uploaded three chapters at once because a lot of the explanations happen in Chapter 3. Your questions will be answered, I swear.  
> 3\. I have watched and enjoyed a lot of DS9, but I'm not as familiar with it as I am with IY canon. If I've made goofs, please let me know and I'll do my best to correct them! Some diversions from canon (e.g. Jem'Hadar having spiritual energy like youki) are obviously my own invention, but my inventions are few and far between (and obvious!).  
> 4\. I clearly own none of these characters.
> 
> Thanks for indulging this little attack of random!

Kagome woke to find that the world had stopped exploding.

It was disconcerting, to say the least; the last thing she knew, she’d been on an unknown ship in an unknown part of the galaxy, there was a crash that shook the world, then things started sparking and blowing up. She had huddled in a corner of her cell, knowing that Sesshoumaru was somewhere nearby, as he’d only just been dragged away from her – and then she felt a peculiar fuzziness in her limbs, and there was nothing but silence, and cool, fresh air.

Coughing and wheezing around the smoke that still clawed at her lungs, she pushed herself up on her arms and looked around.

Oh.

There were at least a dozen people staring at her warily, a few with weapons trained on her.  Most were wearing black uniforms with grey yokes, the split mandarin collars showing variously-colored turtlenecks underneath them – yellow, blue, red. Some were human, some clearly not; there didn’t seem to be a single species in charge, really. She wasn’t sure whether or not this was an improvement.

She blinked at them for a moment before glancing around at the room. She was on some kind of transporter pad, but it didn’t look like the ship she’d been on before. Everything seemed too stable, too heavy, too ... permanent. Was she on some kind of base on a planet somewhere? And _where_ was Sesshoumaru? Was he here somewhere, also being held at gunpoint? Still on the burning ship?

She decided that, since interrogating her captors seemed like a poor choice of first impressions, the first thing she needed to do was to get to her feet; she always felt vulnerable when people towered over her, even knowing as she did that she could take them all down without any trouble. Assuming they didn’t shoot her first, but they didn’t seem inclined to kill her _before_ the questions.

“OK, folks,” she said quietly, holding her hands up in plain view. “I’d really like to stand up; is that going to get me shot?”

One of them, a slender, dark-haired man in a blue-collared uniform, stepped forward. He was holding something, but it didn’t look like the things the others were clearly wielding as weapons. He crouched before her, meeting her eyes.

“My name is Doctor Julian Bashir,” he started, surprising her with his posh English accent. “You’re welcome to stand, but I’d like to examine you for injuries first.” He waited for some confirmation, his expression open and unthreatening.

She watched his face warily. ‘Examine’ didn’t sound like something she really wanted to be subjected to. She decided to press the issue, but as diplomatically as she could.

“I appreciate it, but I’m fine,” she said quietly. “A few more minutes of breathing clean air and I’ll be good as new.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t relent. “I’d like to make sure of that. You are not in any danger here; we want to help you.”  
  
She blinked at him. “That’s a lovely sentiment, but I’d be more convinced if there weren’t a bunch of weapons pointed at me.” He grinned wryly.

A burly black man with goatee and a red collar stepped forward, looking down at her from just behind where the doctor still squatted. She could feel him evaluating her, trying to determine how much of a threat a tiny unarmed Japanese woman could possibly be. She hoped he couldn’t tell how much damage she could actually do, or she’d have guns trained on her for the rest of her life. 

“You and I need to talk,” he said in a deep, rich voice. Making eye contact with the doctor briefly, he nodded at something Kagome couldn’t quite follow. “I’ll accompany you and Dr. Bashir to the infirmary.” He turned to the small group with the weapons; she noticed that they were all wearing yellow. “Security, I want a small detail to stay with us, but she is not to be threatened in any way unless she instigates a conflict.” They nodded and put away their weapons, and all but three left the room.

When Kagome turned her eyes back to him, the doctor was giving her a boyish smile and had his instrument trained on her. It made a faint warbling noise, and she flinched. As though to distract her, he asked, “What’s your name?”

She hesitated a moment. Should she give her real name? She thought about all she’d seen so far. These people seemed fair, if cautious, and she found herself wanting to trust them. She drew a deep breath, and made her decision.

“Kagome. Higurashi Kagome.”  
  
The doctor’s smile widened. “Well, then, Kagome, you don’t have any injuries that will be worsened by walking, so why don’t you come with me, and I’ll treat you for smoke inhalation and take care of the nasty burn on your shoulder.” She looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then glanced down at her shoulder. She couldn’t contain a shocked gasp at what she saw: her flesh was charred, the skin at the edges bubbling. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten it.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s ugly.” The doctor stood, chuckling, and offered her a hand. She reached her uninjured arm up and allowed him to help her to her feet. He led the way, the man in the red collar and the three security officers following closely. Chewing idly on the inside of her lip, she triple-checked that her scent and aura were still masked; it made her feel better, whether or not anything nearby was actually able to sense her.

Within half an hour, her examination was over – the doctor hadn’t so much as laid a hand on her, but used a number of small instruments like the one he’d used earlier to determine the location and severity of everything that ailed her. Before long, he’d healed her burn, soothed her lungs, fixed an old injury in her ankle (a broken bone that never quite healed right, making her prone to sprain her right ankle at the slightest twist), and informed her that she’d never have another migraine. They didn’t bring up anything important – where she was, who she was, where she came from, what she was doing on those bastards’ ship. Where Sesshoumaru was.

Finally, her worry got the better of her diplomacy.

“Where are the others from the ship I was on?” She could hear a tinge of desperation in her voice, but was too focused on their reactions to care. The doctor and commander exchanged glances.

“The ship you were on exploded within seconds of our getting you off it,” the commander explained quietly. “You were the only one we could get off in time.”

Kagome’s heart stopped. The room swayed; the doctor lunged for her, grabbing her arm roughly to keep her upright. She didn’t notice.

_No_.

_NO._

Sesshoumaru was not dead.

Suddenly coming back to the reality of two strangers staring at her, she yanked her arm brusquely from the doctor’s grasp and stalked over to a large window out onto star-spangled blackness. Balling one fist helplessly, she pressed the side of it against the cold glass, willing it not to be true. There was a writhing, living pain twisting through the center of her chest. She could feel her face screwing up in agony, teeth bared in a snarl; for the first time in centuries she was helpless to contain the emotion that was devouring her. She pressed her forehead to the glass, noting absently that her face was wet with tears.

“Who else was on that ship?” the commander asked, a peculiar gentleness in his voice.

“My husband,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. She wanted to scream; she wanted to rip her hair out from the roots; she wanted to claw the skin off her arms; she wanted to rend the flesh from her bones with her teeth. Anything to distract her from the seething emptiness consuming her heart. Dead. Dead. Dead. Never coming back. Dead. Gone.

Sesshoumaru.

_Dead_.

“My husband,” she repeated, her voice nothing more than a broken whisper.


	2. Chapter 2

Kagome wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting in the darkened room they’d assigned her – she hadn’t moved from the low couch since she’d sat down. Food seemed irrelevant. Water seemed irrelevant. Light seemed irrelevant. Everything seemed irrelevant save the ache in her chest and the memories of her mate. His rare smiles. His fury when those he loved were threatened. His strength and calm.

The unusual gentleness, the strange hesitance, the almost-fear in his eyes the day he’d asked her to become his mate. The one time, the one time in a thousand years he’d ever wept – the moment his firstborn was set into his arms, when he still thought Kagome would die from the exertion of birthing a hanyou. The agony and fury and fear when he was ripped away from her on the ship; the last time she’d ever see his face.

Tears fell from her eyes without her knowledge or consent. Nails dug into her palms, but she didn’t feel them when they broke skin, dark crescent moons echoing the marking on his forehead. Her mate was gone. Her children were fatherless.

Her children.

That was the thought that finally jarred Kagome out of the dreamlike haze of anguish. She was being selfish. She needed to be strong for her children. They needed her, especially now that Sesshoumaru was gone. She could die inside, but outwardly she had to be strong. Strong. Like Sesshoumaru.

The buzzer at the door went off, as it had five or six times before. This time, though, she stood stiffly and lurched over to the door, noting from her protesting muscles and faint light-headedness that she had been sitting there for a long time.

The door opened to reveal the dark-haired doctor, his eyes creased with concern as he took in her appearance. She was distantly grateful that she was incapable of feeling self-conscious at the moment.

“Miss—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Kagome. Just Kagome, please. And before you ask, I’m fine, and I’d like to speak to your commander.”

He blinked at her abruptness. “Of course. Can I get you something to eat or drink, first? You’ve been here for nearly two full days, and the computer says you haven’t used the replicator once.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t need anything.” Now that she thought about it, though, her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth a bit. Since he seemed to be waiting for her to change her mind, she relented. “OK, maybe a glass of water.”   
  
With a smile, he stepped into her room and spoke into a small panel above a little honeycomb-lit niche in the wall, and a glass of water appeared. Kagome took it from him with a nod of thanks, and walked over to a kind of vanity at the wall. If she was going to put on a brave face, she couldn’t do it halfway. A glance in the mirror made her cringe; her face was sallow and sunken with dark circles ringing her eyes and streaks of dried salt on her cheeks, and her hair was matted and wild. She wondered idly if she’d been pulling at it without knowing. There was a hairbrush lying on top of the dresser; she lifted it and tried to wrestle her usually-glossy locks into some semblance of order, taking frequent sips from the water as she did. After a moment of staring at the sink, she figured out how to turn the water on, and splashed a few palmfuls on her face, scrubbing at her eyes with her fists before toweling herself off.

When she turned, the doctor was sitting in one of the chairs looking at a small machine in his hand; giving her as much privacy as he could, she supposed. She sighed.

“Thank you, doctor; I’m feeling a bit more human now. I’m ready.” His eyes swept over her once, appraisingly; seeming satisfied with what he found, he nodded briefly and stood. Gallantly offering her an arm – which she felt she couldn’t really decline – he led her out into the station.

The station – Deep Space Nine, he called it – was a huge, sprawling affair; vaguely circular, as best she could tell, with most of the important stuff in the middle. They made their way through the habitat ring to the promenade; Kagome tried to be interested by the many-specied throng and the variety of shops and restaurants, the excited chatter and the loiterers. Still, she felt tired and hollow, and oddly detached from the goings-on around her.

One thing did catch her eye, though; there was a dark-haired little girl of about seven or eight years old playing on the banister that ringed the upper level. Even at such a distance, she looked as though she had some Japanese heritage, and a faint purple flared around her from time to time; she had some miko abilities, though entirely untrained. As Kagome wondered at finding another Japanese miko on a space station who-knows-where in space, the mother in her was panicking at the dangerous stunts the girl was pulling.

Suddenly, as Kagome watched, the little girl’s grip slipped; a small cry, and she fell. Without thinking, Kagome leapt forward, sprinting across the promenade with speed that had onlookers staring in amazement – but centuries of training with demons had improved her reflexes to near-superhuman levels. 

She was too far away.  She wouldn’t be able to reach her in time. Desperately, Kagome loosed a bit of her powers to give her a final, frantic burst of speed; she dove, catching the girl in her arms just before she would have struck the ground. She rolled a few times before coming to a stop, her arms making a protective cage around the child’s little form. 

For a breathless moment, all was silent – then the promenade erupted, everyone talking at once, people crowding around her to check on the little girl, some clapping, some grumbling suspiciously. The doctor pushed his way through the crowd as Kagome struggled to sit up, the little girl clinging tightly to her neck. For a moment Kagome sat, cradling the girl in her arms and stroking her hair, whispering soft reassurances. She was safe. Everything was all right now. She was safe.

Finally, prising the little arms gently away, she took a good look at the girl’s tear-streaked face. Definitely Japanese. The doctor crouched beside her and scanned them both with his little machine; declaring them both uninjured, he helped Kagome to her feet just as two worried figures burst through the crowd around them – a slender Japanese woman and a stocky man with red-blonde curls. _Her parents_ , Kagome thought.

“Molly!” the woman cried, relief and exasperation warring on her pretty face. “How many times have I told you ..." 

“Keiko, not just now,” soothed the man in a lilting voice, stepping forward to lift the little girl out of Kagome’s arms. Sobbing softly, she burrowed into her father’s embrace. Murmuring into her hair and rocking her rhythmically, the man evaluated Kagome with a sideways glance as his wife rubbed their daughter’s back. When Molly’s sobs had subsided to quiet snuffling, he extended the arm that wasn’t supporting his daughter.

“Miles O’Brien,” he offered, gesturing with his head to the woman beside him, “and this is my wife, Keiko. It looks like we owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Kagome shook his hand, then Keiko’s, smiling woodenly. “Higurashi Kagome. There’s certainly no debt; anyone would have done the same. I’m just glad she’s all right.” She smiled gamely at the doctor, and turned as though to move off.

“Wait,” came a tiny voice. Kagome turned to see little dark eyes peering at her from Miles’ protective embrace.

“Thank you, pink lady,” the little girl choked out. Keiko looked scandalized and started to scold her, but Kagome interrupted.

“It’s all right, I think I know what she means,” Kagome said with a small smile. She turned to Molly.

“Molly, my name is Kagome. Why did you call me pink lady?” she asked gently, her tone curious and carefully devoid of reproof.

“You’re pink the way I’m purple,” she muttered, turning her face into Miles’ neck shyly. Kagome smiled despite herself.

“That’s true, I am,” she answered. Keiko and Miles turned shocked stares on her. Gently encouraging the little girl, she continued, “Do you want to show your parents what you mean?”   
  
“I can’t,” Molly muttered, still not looking up from Miles’ shoulder. “It never happens when I try; it just happens.”

Keiko turned to Miles, who look utterly baffled by the conversation. “You know, Miles, Molly has been saying funny things from time to time about having purple hands, or seeing herself as purple. I thought it was just her imagination, but ...” She shot an appraising glance at Kagome, who gave her a faint smile and nodded before turning her attention back to Molly.

“Molly, do you want to show your mommy and daddy?” The little girl nodded without looking up. “OK, then. Look at me, sweetheart,” Molly slowly lifted her head from Miles’ shoulder and reluctantly met Kagome’s eyes. “Hold out your hand like this.” She extended her hand, palm out. Molly mimicked her. Turning her own hand over, she set her palm about an inch above Molly’s – not touching, just hovering over it. Tapping into her powers, she allowed her hand to glow pink for a moment. Beside her, Keiko and Julian gasped. Miles was staring in horror and nearly drew his daughter away when her little laugh tinkled through the promenade.

“Look, daddy!” she cried, all smiles. “Look, mama! See?” Called out by Kagome’s purity, Molly’s own power had risen into her hand, which now glowed a faint purple.

Smiling, Kagome reined in her powers, cloaked her aura again, and shot Molly a smile and a broad wink.

“If you want, sweetheart, and if it’s OK with your parents, I’ll be happy to teach you how to control that.” She turned to Miles and Keiko. “Your daughter,” she explained softly, “is a miko. She has the power to heal and to shield, and to purify beings with dark energy. At the moment, since she’s so young, it doesn’t make any difference that she’s untrained – the most she can do is make her aura visible, like she just did. But as she grows and her powers get stronger, it may become dangerous if they erupt without her being able to control them, especially if you have any allies with opposite energy.” They were both still gaping at her, and she smiled. “I certainly won’t train her without your express permission. But I do encourage you to think about it; if you like, I can answer any questions you’ve got, explain more about the properties of holy power, what training entails. It wouldn’t put her in any danger at all; it would be mostly meditation. If you’re interested, let me know. It was nice to meet you both.” She smiled at the little girl who was still grinning at her hand. “Rather, all three of you.” Turning, she followed the doctor off to meet with the station’s commander.

As she walked away, she was struck with a sudden crushing guilt. For a moment, for half a moment, had she ... _forgotten_ that Sesshoumaru was dead? How could she have normal social interactions? How could she offer to train a child miko? How could she live as if nothing had happened – how could she live at all? She had no right to a life with any joy in it; not when he was gone.

The doctor’s hand at her elbow and the concern in his eyes was enough to keep her from bursting into tears. Biting back her guilt and loss, she nodded with as much dignity as she could muster and they continued on to the commander’s office.

 


	3. Chapter 3

At a muffled “Enter” from within, the doctor patted her shoulder reassuringly and Kagome stepped forward, the door opening as she neared it. 

The commander was standing behind a desk in a mostly-grey office. Turning to greet her, he gestured to the chair on the far side of his desk, and she sat warily.

“Tea? Coffee?” he asked pleasantly, walking over to a small alcove carved into the wall.

“Green tea would be lovely, thank you,” Kagome replied with all the courtesy she could muster.

He repeated her request to the replicator, then there was a buzzing sound and a steaming cup flickered into view. He ordered a drink with a name she didn’t recognize for himself, set the mug of fragrant tea in front of her, and settled himself opposite her, a cup of what smelled like coffee and chicory in his own hands. She looked at the cup for a moment, belatedly thinking that she should be careful about what she ingested – but then again, they could have killed her several times over. They had no real reason to poison or drug her. Hoping her host would take her action as a gesture of trust, she met his eyes and took a deliberate sip of the steaming liquid. 

“Now, then,” he started, a thin veneer of friendliness not undermining the quiet authority in his voice. “My name is Benjamin Sisko, and I’m the commander of Deep Space Nine. Remind me – what is your name?”

“Higurashi Kagome.” That strange hollowness hadn’t left her voice; she almost didn’t recognize the sound.

He nodded. “Kagome – forgive me; would you prefer I called you Higurashi, or Ms.—?” He trailed off, leaving an open invitation for her to correct him.  
  
She was somehow touched that he cared. “Kagome’s fine. It’s my given name.”

He nodded again, seeming satisfied. “Very well, then, Kagome. Why don’t you start from the beginning, and tell me how it was that you came to be on an exploding Jem’Hadar warship in the Alpha Quadrant?” 

“Half of what you just said is gibberish to me,” she murmured, wrapping both hands around her mug of tea as though to warm them, though the room wasn’t cold. She looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. The emptiness in her heart was consuming her. Now that Sesshoumaru was gone, what difference did it make what they knew?

“All right,” she started, coming to her decision. “I’m going to tell you the truth.”

Though her opening words were halting and shaky, Kagome soon settled into her story.

Perhaps a week before, she and Sesshoumaru were kidnapped from their home outside Tokyo. A swarm of strange beings with scaly grey faces and spiny jaws had come to their home while Sesshoumaru and the eldest children were away; while Kagome was inside, these strangers captured their youngest child, Seiichi, who had been playing outside. Kagome ran outside to fight them, killing several; Sesshoumaru returned almost immediately, and the two of them faced off against the intruders. Before they could as strike a single blow, though, they were beamed onto a foreign ship into holding cells, without their child. Days and nights merged together; there was no telling how long they’d been imprisoned. Perhaps a week? Perhaps two? Not long before she found herself on Deep Space Nine, though, there was an explosion somewhere on the ship. From what Kagome could tell, it wasn’t an attack; it didn’t feel like a weapon firing on them, but rather like something in the inner core of the ship had malfunctioned. Other things soon began to spark and explode, and their cell filled with smoke. Almost immediately, a dark-haired male with purple eyes and large ridged ears joined to his head had burst into their cell and made as if to grab Kagome. Sesshoumaru had tried to protect her – but it was a set-up. As he stepped in front of her, he was shocked with a strong beam of some kind of energy, incapacitated (though left conscious), and dragged away.  Kagome was locked away again, and moments later was beamed onto the station where she was currently being held.

When she’d finished speaking, the commander let out a long, slow exhale and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said finally, his voice low and sincere. “The beings who kidnapped you are an enemy we’ve only just begun to fight. They’re called Jem’Hadar, and they are the henchmen for the greatest threat the Alpha Quadrant has faced since the Borg – the Dominion. It’s extremely disturbing to hear that they have gone so far as to raid Earth.”

Kagome nodded. The emptiness in her chest had abated a bit while she was telling the story, reliving the time when she and Sesshoumaru had faced their adversaries side by side; now that the story was over, the reality of her situation had brought that gnawing ache back in full force.

“Why,” she started, clearing her throat when she heard how her voice was trembling. “Why would they want me and Sesshoumaru?”

He shook his head. “I can’t say,” he said quietly, squinting out the window. After a moment’s silence, he turned to meet her eyes again.

“Perhaps, though, I could begin to speculate on that question when you answer another one for me. Doctor Bashir mentioned in his report that while you appear to be human, the rate at which your cells age and the speed with which you heal is – extraordinary, to say the least. Are you human?” Kagome’s eyes widened; the question had taken her by surprise, but she felt foolish for not having expected it. Of course they didn’t know about youkai; few did.

“Mostly,” she answered. “I was born human, and aged like a human until I was twenty-three. When I mated Sesshoumaru, I was given some of youki ... er, his spiritual energy, and I began to age like him. I’m nearly nine hundred years old.” She paused for a moment to do some quick internal math, ignoring the shock on the commander’s face, then nodded absently. “That’s right, I’m ... 887. Give or take a couple years; it’s easy to get confused. Anyway, as you see, haven’t noticeably aged more than five or ten years since I mated. I’m still in my prime, as was my mate.”

“Your ... _mate_ was not human.”

“No. He was youkai; inuyoukai, to be precise. _Demon_ is the conventional translation, though we prefer the Japanese term since it has less Christian baggage. Sesshoumaru is—was a dog demon. He was nearing a millennium of age when we mated, over 850 years ago.”   
  
“But you said you were both from Earth?” The commander’s eyes were sharp, his tone demanding. Kagome almost smiled – almost. He reminded her of Inuyasha, who hated not knowing what was going on. And near-immortal non-extraterrestrials were a pretty big shock to most people who were raised on Earth.

“That’s right. My mate’s people have kept themselves mostly hidden since humans began to take over; we keep ourselves more or less separate from human politics and events, though of course we are frequently affected by them.” She paused for a moment, wondering whether or not she was stepping on a mine. Taking a deep breath, she asked the question that she _hoped_ wouldn’t get her thrown back into a holding cell.

“Are you allies of the Federation?”

The commander blinked at her for a moment, then burst into laughter. She was still staring, utterly perplexed, when he regained control of his features. A corner of his mouth twitching, he asked, “You don’t recognize my uniform?”   
  
She shook her head, still confused.

“This is the uniform of Starfleet. You’re on a Federation base.”

Kagome’s shoulders sagged in relief, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “We have had an alliance with the Federation for nearly two hundred years,” she said softly, giving him her best approximation of a smile. “It’s mostly mutual non-interference; youkai are strongly territorial, and don’t have much interest in the goings-on outside their own borders. But if Earth were in danger, we would help to protect it. My mate was the strongest warrior in several millennia, of any species. He could defeat an army on his own – and has, on a number of occasions. Human and youkai both. The people who captured us – they must have known, that’s why they used me and our pups – our children, rather – to trap him.” Her voice cracked. She shut her jaw resolutely and turned unseeing eyes on the wall.  His face. His anger. His love. _Sesshoumaru_.

Something snapped inside her chest. Her eyes hard, her mouth set in a grim line, she turned to face the commander again. “If you will allow me to, I will stay and fight the Dominion with you.”

For a moment, Sisko eyed her appraisingly. Kagome could feel the weight of his skepticism, and had to concentrate hard to keep from clenching her jaw in desperation.   
  
“While I freely admit to knowing little about the political situation, I have a number of things I can offer you,” she started, hoping to pique his interest before he outright refused her. It seemed to work; he was listening. She held up one finger. “One: despite my appearance, I am a warrior, and I’ve spent nearly a millennium honing my combat skills against enemies much stronger and faster than humans.” She brought up another finger. “Two: I am a miko; I was born with holy powers. The Jem’Hadar have spiritual energy much like youki, the energy that youkai are born with – and unlike youkai, they can’t cloak it. Even when they are invisible to the eye, I can see them, and I have the power to destroy them.” His eyes had narrowed; he was definitely listening. She brought up a third finger. “Three. They killed my mate.” There was nothing more to be said on that point; her resolve was absolute.

Sisko steepled his fingers and closed his eyes, considering her words. Her jaw set defiantly, Kagome waited.

Finally, Sisko nodded, though not without some hesitation. “Very well,” he said slowly. “I’m sure you’ll understand that I can’t immediately trust you with sensitive missions—” He waited until she nodded, then continued, “—but I believe that you are telling the truth, and will welcome your assistance in the upcoming war.” He met her eyes, and said with careful deliberation, “Welcome to Deep Space Nine, ally.”

She inclined her head regally, though smiling seemed far too difficult to consider at the moment. “Thank you for your welcome. If there is any way I can support your efforts against the Dominion, you have but to ask.”

Kagome hesitated, but decided that she couldn’t put off asking any longer. “Now that we each know where the other stands,” she started, watching as Sisko’s expression went wary again, “I wonder if I can ask a favor.” The commander inclined his head, indicating that she should continue. “My children only know that my mate and I were abducted. If I may use your communication system, I would like to contact them; they should be informed both that I am safe and that their father has been killed.” Her heart filled with dread at the thought of breaking the news to them; they would be heartbroken. And she wouldn’t be there to comfort them.

Sisko’s expression cleared, and he nodded. “Of course. I will contact the Federation base in Tokyo; they will get in touch with your children and arrange a time for the meeting. I or another officer will need to be present for security reasons; is that acceptable?” Kagome nodded; she had expected something like that. He pulled up a schedule on the low screen that protruded from his desk. “How is ... 14:00 tomorrow?”   
  
Kagome nodded, idly wondering how in the world she could have any conflicts in her schedule when she was practically a captive on a foreign star base; she kept those thoughts to herself, though, as he tapped at the schedule, reserving a viewscreen for her. That finished, Sisko rose and escorted her to the door of his office. 

Just as she was about to leave, Kagome turned, determination glittering in her blue eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, startling him with her vehemence.

He blinked, then his expression settled back into an understanding calm. “His death will be avenged,” he promised in a low voice. Kagome nodded fiercely and strode out of his office with her head high, leaving him to stare after her in bemusement.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Kagome spent the next morning reading up on the Dominion. The computer provided her with as much history as there was – contact with the Founders, everything known about the Jem’Hadar and their way of war, the Vorta and their diplomacy. The Founders themselves gave Kagome the most pause; there was, of course, no way she could gauge whether or not they had a demonic aura, but since the Vorta male on the ship she’d been imprisoned on _hadn’t_ had an aura, it didn’t seem safe to assume that a changeling would. She worried at her lower lip, wondering how much use she was really going to be in all this. She could take the Jem’Hadar, but ... eight hundred years of combat training doesn’t mean much when you’re on a space ship. One well-timed plasma torpedo and it’s over, no question. She sighed.

Doctor Bashir appeared at her door around one asking permission to have lunch with her; she agreed, mostly because she didn’t feel she had much of a choice. He seemed to be eating with her mostly to be sure she was eating. As she picked idly at the food in front of her, they chatted about life on the station. When Kagome expressed a certain interest – however superficial – in the ship’s amenities, the doctor offered her a tour of the ship when her meeting with her children was over. She accepted, internally reminding herself that this was her home for the time being, and she would not allow herself to rot in her rooms.

Finally, as her appointment with the viewscreen neared, Julian offered to escort her to the conference room. She accepted gratefully, still not entirely comfortable with the layout of the ship, and they met Sisko just outside. Taking a deep breath, Kagome nodded her thanks to the doctor, met the commander’s eyes, and stepped into the dim room. Sisko moved discreetly to the corner and leaned against the wall. 1:59pm. She waited. 

The screen flickered briefly before revealing seven worried faces, and Kagome forgot Sisko’s presence completely, releasing the breath she’d been holding. They were safe, all seven of them. Seven heads of silver hair, seven pairs of eyes, either gold or dark blue; furry hanyou ears on some, tails on others – each one bore some mark of their human heritage, and a great deal of Sesshoumaru.

“Okaa-sama,” breathed her eldest son, Souta, the first to break the silence. Her face broke into a watery smile. Now more than ever he looked like Sesshoumaru – expressive golden eyes, silver hair, crescent moon, features set in a carefully-cultivated blankness ... unless you knew him well. And Kagome knew him better than anyone; her heart broke at the worry and fear she saw on her child’s face. Her second-eldest, a daughter named Sango, was standing beside Souta, her arms around little Seiichi – he was trying manfully to mimic his father’s stoic mask despite the tears glittering in his eyes.

“Hello, darlings,” she managed, her voice not quite as strong as she would have hoped.

“We ...” Souta started, though he seemed unsure whether or not he should continue. “We have been worried.” He looked away as though embarrassed by the admission.

“It’s so good to see you, mama,” Sango continued, elbowing her brother; she had always been more expressive than her siblings, especially since her brothers all idolized their father and mimicked his mannerisms.  “We’re so glad you’re safe.” She lay a hand on little Seiichi’s head, making his white puppy ears flick back and forth restlessly. “I think Seiichi has something he’d like to say.” The little boy looked up at her, lips trembling, eyes luminous with unshed tears; Sango gave him an encouraging smile and shoved him gently toward the viewscreen.

“Hi, Sei-chan,” Kagome whispered, smiling. “Are you OK?”

“Mama,” he started, voice wobbling dangerously, “I ...” He looked back to Sango, who nodded encouragingly, then he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead against the ground. “I’m sorry, mama,” he cried, little voice muffled by the carpet.

Tears burned at Kagome’s eyes, but she forced them back. Her arms ached, physically ached with the desire to hold him, to comfort him. “Sei-chan, baby – look at me.” He shook his head, his face still buried in the carpet, slight shoulders now shaking with the force of him sobs.  
  
“Seiichi, look at me,” she repeated more firmly. He looked up, biting his lower lip to keep the sobs back. “It wasn’t your fault, baby,” she said gently. “No one blames you for what happened. It was the fault of the bad people who took us, not yours. Do you understand me?”

He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. Kagome sent Sango a pleading look, and her daughter scooped Seiichi up into her arms and cuddled him, tucking his head under her chin and crooning softly as she stroked his hair.

“Mother,” Souta interjected. “Where is father?”

Kagome’s heart stopped. For half a moment she had forgotten that she had to deliver that news. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, biting her lip at the gasps from her children. When she opened her eyes, Souta was holding up one imperious hand to quiet his siblings. 

“Father is dead.” Souta’s words were harsh and cold, but Kagome could hear the raw grief in his tone. She couldn’t do anything but nod, a tear slipping down her cheek. She had to be strong for her children; she had to be strong; she had to be strong. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and started to tell them she was joining the fight against the Jem’Hadar. Before she could get a word out, though, her eldest son spoke again.

“You’re not coming home.”

His brothers and sisters gaped at him before all speaking at once. Kagome heard “Souta, don’t say things like that!” (Sango); “She didn’t say that, jerk!” (Miroku, whose temper was clearly still a problem); “Aniki, that’s horrible!” (Rin; she got rather shrill when she was upset) – all underscored by Seiichi’s wailing howl. The twins, Kohaku and Kito, were resolutely silent, golden eyes wide in fear and horror.

“Children.” It was all she had to say. They fell silent; even Seiichi stopped crying and just snuffled quietly into Sango’s shoulder.  She didn’t need to confirm the truth of what Souta had said; they could read it in her face.

“Souta, you are Lord of the West now. Remember what we have taught you. Be strong, be fair, and listen to your pack. Your sister gives good advice; heed her.” She nodded at Sango, whose calming influence was most of the reason Souta had lived to adulthood.

“When are you coming home, mama?” Sango asked, her eyes shining suspiciously but her voice strong and clear. She and Souta had to be strong for the younger ones, now. Kagome’s heart swelled with pride.

“I don’t know, sunshine,” she answered with a sad smile. “I will fight the ones who killed your father until they are defeated.” Years, even centuries – if she survived at all.

Miroku started to butt in angrily, but Souta hushed him. “It is her right to avenge him,” he reminded his brother in an undertone. “She is where she is needed.”  
  
“ _We_ need her,” Miroku hissed, his eyes flashing red.

“Darlings,” Kagome interjected gently, “I’m not just going to disappear. I’m on a well-run Federation space station; we have good communication, as this call demonstrates. I’ll call you often.”

Looking slightly mollified – and a little chagrined – Miroku subsided back to his previous position at Souta’s shoulder. 

For a long moment, Kagome just looked at her children. Strong, proud, beautiful. _All that’s left of Sesshoumaru,_ a voice in her head whispered. All her joy.

“My darlings,” she whispered, her heart in her throat. She met their eyes, each in turn. “I love you more than I could ever say. I am so proud of you all.”

When the call ended, Kagome sank into a chair at the long, empty table, feeling rather than seeing Sisko come sit beside her. Her heart ached so badly she could hardly breathe.

“You have a remarkable family,” Sisko offered quietly. She smiled sadly.

“Thank you – I’m inclined to agree, though I supposed my opinion’s biased.” She sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I wish I could be there for them now – this is going to be so hard on them all.” She met his eyes and shook her head sadly. “They worshipped him.” _So did I_ , that voice in her head cried out, but she resolutely ignored it. 

For a long moment they stared through the window out on the black vastness of space. Sisko was the one to break the silence. “Jake was eleven when my wife died. I wouldn’t have been able to bear being separated from him then.” Kagome blinked; she hadn’t realized he was a widower.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. 

He nodded absently in acknowledgment. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but stopped himself; shaking his head briefly, he lay a hand on her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, and left her to her thoughts. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The doctor seemed oddly determined to take Kagome’s mind off her conversation with her children. Letting him carry the bulk of the conversation, Kagome murmured the occasional well-timed question about his research or the workings of the station – just enough to keep his animated chatter flowing. He took her past restaurants, cafes, a temple, odd little shops, clubs, a gym, and any number of more official-looking establishments – the security office, where a putty-faced man sat behind an immaculate desk glaring impassively at the screen in his hands; the infirmary, where his passing was acknowledged with waves and nods from the other doctors; consulates and embassies, customs and storage. Finally, he brought her to what seemed to have been his destination all along. A sign at the door of a busy establishment announced it to be “Quark's Bar, Grill, Gaming House and Holosuite Arcade” – Kagome hesitated for a moment as the doctor preceded her into the bar, one hand over the door’s sensor to keep it open for her. She wasn’t used to bars, wasn’t used to entering rooms full of strangers whose eyes would all be on her, wasn’t used to entering unknown territory without her mate by her side. Mentally chastising herself, she quashed a niggling – what, embarrassment? discomfort? vulnerability? – and followed him in.

Quark’s was a large bar, dominated by a striking stained-glass mural in shades of yellow, orange, and red; there were at least two floors, joined by graceful spiral staircases. It was bustling, even in the middle of the afternoon. Most of the tables were full, with clusters of patrons at the game tables and dart boards, and several smallish groups hovering at the bar. Julian was happily narrating to her who was who and what kind of food and drink was served, and Kagome listened with half an ear, her eyes on a game of darts being played by the father of the little miko she’d met the day before. _Miles_ , she reminded herself. _Miles, Keiko, Molly. Julian. Benjamin Sisko._ Just as she was doing a mental review of the people she’d met, the sandy-haired Irishman turned from his dart game to wave at the two of them. By her side, Julian grinned and waved back; Kagome managed to incline her head, though a smile still seemed beyond her grasp.

“You met Miles O’Brien yesterday,” Julian reminded her in a low voice, and she nodded in agreement. “He’s our chief of operations. The lads he’s playing with are also from engineering.” He jerked his chin to the bar, where the short bartender with lumps on his forehead and huge ridged ears was chatting with a bald character who looked like something out of Dr. Seuss – little button nose set practically right between beady eyes, huge drooping mouth, teddy-bear ears set high on the mottled head.

“That’s Quark,” the doctor continued, “the proprieter. Ferengi. Don’t conduct business with him if you hold any affection for your wallet.” Kagome snorted. “He’s talking to Morn, bit of an institution at the bar – he practically lives in that seat. That –” he gestured again with his head, this time to a Ferengi waiter out on the floor – “is Quark’s brother, Rom. Nice, a bit naive, smarter than most of us put together when it comes to anything mechanical.”

“And who are _they_?” she asked in an undertone, eyes flicking over a rowdy group of males and one beleaguered female, all with wild black hair, flashing eyes, and prominent, corrugated foreheads, who had gathered at one end of the bar.

“Klingons,” the doctor whispered back. “Proud, warlike, with a highly-developed sense of honor. Constantly spoiling for a fight. I’d avoid them; most of them don’t much like humans.”

“Got it,” she returned, thinking how similar his description was to the way she had, on several occasions, described inuyoukai to other humans. Minus the whole ‘constantly spoiling for a fight’ thing; that was true of Inuyasha, but less of Sesshoumaru or the members of her pack. That now-familiar clenching in her heart was painful enough to make her see stars; _Sesshoumaru_. She took a deep breath and allowed her eyes to skim over the rest of the bar’s patrons; there were all different kinds of aliens present, in and out of uniform. Most were vaguely humanoid, though a few had entirely different forms; she couldn’t help but gape at a large purplish insectoid who appeared to be gambling at one of the game tables.

A series of shouts, a crash, a shattering of glass; though Kagome’s brain hadn’t time to fully register what was going on, her body had already taken action. She shoved the doctor out of harm’s way, taking the impact of whatever was flying in their direction. It turned out to be a large, heavily armored Klingon woman, and the two of them crashed to the floor of the bar.

Somersaulting with practiced ease, Kagome came up in a defensive crouch just as the other Klingons barreled down the bar towards her. The woman who’d knocked her over stumbled dazedly to her feet, a hand to her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the doctor had regained his feet – and his composure – and was heading towards the woman, no doubt intending to check her for injuries. Excellent.

“Out of the way, human,” one of the males growled. She bared her teeth at him and loosed a low growl of her own. No way in _hell_ would she be intimidated by them, not after centuries of being alpha bitch of the western demon-pack. She didn’t stop to wonder why she was taking a stranger under her protection; for the moment it was enough that someone needed her. With no further warning, the three Klingon warriors attacked.

It didn’t last long. Kagome had spent over eight hundred years training with the best of Sesshoumaru’s warriors; she was an expert at dispatching opponents who were bigger, stronger, and faster than she. And these warriors – well, they were just bigger. Within moments she had flipped one over her shoulder and stunned him by dashing him hard against the floor; the second tried to attack from behind, but she elbowed him in the gut and cracked the underside of his jaw against her knee as he doubled over in pain; the third pulled a wicked-looking knife on her, and it took her all of a second to block his attack, disarm him, and pin him to the floor, his own knife at his throat.

“Yield,” she growled, eyes flashing. The male snarled at her, and she pressed the knife harder against his throat. “Yield!”

He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring in fury. “I yield,” he muttered finally, lip curling in disgust around the word. She dropped the knife and stood, head held high, before deliberately turning her back to the defeated warrior. She strode calmly toward the doctor, who was gaping at her in absolute astonishment. As, she noticed with well-concealed pride, was everyone else in the bar – including a number of people in yellow-collared uniforms, who had frozen where they stood, having no doubt leapt up to intervene. 

She reached the doctor and the Klingon woman and had turned to ask whether or not the woman was injured when she felt it. In a single fluid movement, she whirled, caught the knife that was flying at her back, and sent it back to the Klingon who’d thrown it where he still lay sprawled on the floor.  It sank into the bar just under his left ear, pinning his hair to the bar. Snarling, he tried to remove it and found that from his angle he couldn’t.

She stalked over to her fallen foe with all the easy grace of a predator. Kneeling before him, she stated in a low voice, pitched to carry across the whole room, “I have _never_ missed a target. That was your last warning.” With a grunt, she jerked the knife out of the strange not-quite-wooden material of the bar, dropped it deliberately into the Klingon’s lap, rose, and sauntered away without a backward glance. 

“You all right?” she asked as she approached the Klingon woman a second time.

“Fine,” the woman answered, chin in the air. Her haughty demeanor was undiminished despite the indignity of having been heaved across the room a scant few minutes before. “I did not require your assistance, human.”

“Ah, well,” Kagome said neutrally, trying to keep from grinning. Yes, very much like an embarrassed youkai bitch. “I’m glad you’re not hurt, anyway.” Turning to the doctor, she continued, “I think I’ve seen enough of the bar scene for the moment, doc; care to show me around the rest of the place?”

Julian recovered his composure with admirable speed. “Of course,” he agreed smoothly, offering her his arm. She took it regally, and they swept out of the bar, leaving their astonished audience to gape after them. 


	6. Chapter 6

Days turned into weeks, and although the emptiness in Kagome’s chest never abated, she found herself gradually becoming accustomed to life on the space station. Her days were full; she spent most mornings with Molly, coaxing little spurts of purple purity from her fingertips, and her afternoons in low-security-clearance meetings or in Quark’s – in either case, discussing new developments regarding the Dominion threat with security and operations staff. She was pleased with her progress in the former – after a little initial resistance on Keiko and Miles’ part, the miko training was progressing quickly, and Molly was now able to form rudimentary barriers for short periods of time – but the latter left her with a growing sense of unease. She felt vaguely lost, as though things were progressing without her. She knew they didn’t fully trust her, and couldn’t blame them; but it didn’t stop her from being frustrated.

One afternoon, Kagome sat alone in Quark’s with a cooling cup of green tea. Miles had been with her until shortly before, but he’d ducked home to his quarters, intending to leave a little gift in Keiko’s room before she finished teaching for the day – a new species of flower, just brought back by a team that had made first contact with a planet a few weeks’ travel away. Kagome’s heart ached at the sweetness of the gesture, and bit back the bitter jealousy that rose in her throat. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, not at all; but she did envy it. Forcing her mind to other things, she wondered vaguely who else had been on that mission; she’d heard uneasy whispers that they were expecting the natives to be less than fully receptive to extraterrestrial contact, and it seemed like a substantial security/military presence had been needed. 

Suddenly, her teacup crashed to the floor. There was a demonic aura on the ship – a weak one, darkly malevolent. She recognized it. Not leaving herself time to think, she sprinted from the canteen and through the promenade.

She had almost pinpointed the origin of the auras when she spotted Commander Sisko, who was talking quietly with the constable in the doorway of the latter’s office. Pausing only momentarily, she broke into their conversation, waving her hands. At the desperation on her face, the two men stopped and stared.

“Jem’Hadar,” was all she said, pointing one finger off in front of her and to her left. Without another word, she took off again at a run, hearing that the two men were close behind her. Sisko was calling for operations to scan for any cloaked ships in the vicinity and trace ion patterns to try to follow any movements; Odo was barking orders to security teams – meet them in the habitat ring, seal off various sectors, follow various coded procedures. It all seemed oddly far away, like she was listening to them speak from under water.

She sank into a kind of meditative state as the hallways flew past her; it was like chasing Jewel Shards back in the Warring States era. She let her aura guide her. Locate, pursue. Dodge the intervening obstacles. Hurry. Hurry.

They were getting close. She could hear that Sisko was breathing heavily behind her, though Odo was keeping pace effortlessly – in fact, she realized, she was probably holding him back. She swung around one more corner, feeling that the auras were now very close; she could now feel that there were two. They kept close to each other, and the feel of them was identical, but there were two distinct auras.

As she rounded the corner, she nearly barreled into Miles O’Brien, who leapt back, startled.

“What’re ye doing?” he called after them, eyes wide. They didn’t answer. The hallway slid away beneath Kagome’s feet – so close, so close, almost there ...

Suddenly, she stopped dead. Sisko made a startled noise from behind her, nearly slamming into her back. Odo was searching her face with desperate intensity. She gritted her teeth, praying she was wrong, desperately searching for the auras that had been so clear a moment before – nothing.

“They’re gone,” she whispered, turning to face the wall. Balling her fist, she slammed the side of it helplessly against the wall with a quiet but heartfelt curse.

By this point, O’Brien had caught up to them.

“What all is this about?” he asked quietly, looking first to Sisko, then to Odo for explanations. Sisko just watched Kagome with an impatient scowl, waiting for her to explain herself; Odo met O’Brien’s eyes and jerked his head at her. Security teams were beginning to assemble around them, falling into anticipatory silence when they found no struggle.

“What were they _after_?” Kagome muttered, turning to her companions and searching their faces one by one as if she’d find answers hidden there. Finally, she met Miles’ eyes, which creased with worry and confusion. For a long moment, they just looked at each other.

Suddenly, Kagome’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach; she felt all the blood rush away from her head, and lay a hand on the wall to steady herself as she swayed where she stood. Sisko had grabbed her upper arm roughly, clearly alarmed by her suddenly-pale countenance.

“Computer,” she rasped, her voice trembling. She prayed with everything she was worth that her intuition was wrong. “Give me the location of Molly O’Brien.”

The female voice was clinical, dispassionate; somehow that detachment made those dreaded words so much worse.

“There is no one of that name on the station.”

...

Operations had managed, against all odds, to trace the cloaked Jem’Hadar ship into a system only a day’s travel away; a mostly-barren place, a long-abandoned Klingon base the only notable feature. Why they had not gone through the wormhole was anyone’s guess, though the implications were terrifying. Jem’Hadar warships operating undetected in the alpha quadrant? 

Kagome insisted in being included in the rescue mission. At first, Sisko had flat-out refused her; she was still too much of an unknown quantity. She used all her powers of diplomacy and persuasion: she had the power to defeat the Jem’Hadar without endangering others. She knew their weaknesses. She felt responsible, since she had trained the little miko – she was sure that the Jem’Hadar had taken her because they had felt the sporadic flare of her tiny aura, which Kagome had not yet taught the little girl to cloak. They were eliminating a threat, and it was a threat that she had allowed them to sense.

Finally, he agreed to send her on the rescue mission. She suggested a solo mission, with a ship just for backup; he required that she be accompanied by a security team. After what felt like an eternity of haggling – even as both were highly conscious of the importance of haste – they agreed on a compromise. She and one security officer would perform the rescue, with the battleship Defiant on hand for backup if necessary. He informed her that her companion would be their head of Starfleet security, who had just returned from the first-contact mission; a Klingon named Worf.

A grim excitement built in Kagome at the prospect of the impending rescue. She would get that little girl back, alive and unharmed, and she would make the ones who took what was under her protection _pay_ for their crimes. Eight hundred years of living with inuyoukai had intensified her already-overprotective nature; when those she loved were endangered, she was unstoppable. The viciousness that was rising in her was almost uncontrollable; she was _spoiling_ for a fight.

At the door to the ship’s airlock, she faced an unfamiliar Klingon. He wore a uniform like the other Starfleet officers, albeit with a band of what looked like ammunition slung across his chest; his hair was bound back rather than worn wild, but he had the same features and flashing eyes of her old friends from the bar.

“Hey, big guy,” she said, noting with a glint of wicked pleasure how he stiffened in outrage at her familiarity. She jerked her chin at his impressive physique. “You know how to use those muscles, or are they just for show?”

His eyes were fixed on the wall above her head, his features stiff and straining; she could tell it was taking all his discipline to keep from scowling at her. Or possibly dismembering her. “I am a highly trained warrior,” he answered with deliberate formality.

She grinned wolfishly at him. “Excellent. Let’s go get that little girl and bring her back to her parents.”  He blinked at her, startled for a moment, then grimaced slightly and met Sisko’s eyes over her head. At a knowing smirk and nod from his commander, he inclined his own head in reluctant acceptance. 

...

The trip was tense. Keiko and Miles insisted on joining the rescue team on the Defiant, though they reluctantly acquiesced when Sisko informed them that Kagome and Worf would be performing the rescue alone, as stealthily as possible. Sisko and Odo remained on the station, but insisted that Dr. Bashir accompany them in case Molly had sustained complicated injuries. The worried parents sat on the bridge, hands clasped tightly together, wordlessly supporting each other. Worf spent most of the trip resolutely ignoring Kagome, whom he’d clearly deemed a useless annoyance, despite Sisko’s reluctant approval of the mission.

As they neared the presumed Jem’Hadar base, Kagome’s battle-restlessness only increased, despite the mournful atmosphere on the ship. Molly was a clever, resourceful little girl; she was sure she could protect herself until they got there. And they would get there, and they would kick the asses of the sorry scum who took her.

Finally, _finally_ , the ship dropped into orbit around the planet with the abandoned Klingon base. As she stood on the transporter pad next to the taciturn Klingon, she turned and raised one fist to him. He stared down his ridged nose at her, unmoving.

“It’s an old earth tradition,” she explained, gesturing with her fist. “Fistbumps. It’s – it’s a show of solidarity. You make a fist and bump it against mine.”

His gaze turned flatly incredulous, and he turned his head away from her.

With a resigned huff, she dropped her fist and settled herself for the transport, barely hearing her companion’s ‘energize.’

They materialized on an empty plain just outside a large structure – a barn or storehouse of some sort, she guessed – no less imposing for its dilapidated state. The ground was littered with bits of scrap metal, rusted teeth jutting menacingly from the barren earth. Kagome sent out little fingers of her cloaked aura, testing for the presence of their enemies. They seemed to be on the far side of the building, perhaps in the smaller, better-preserved structure that she could just see around the corner of the warehouse.

They crept silently across the plain, Worf following Kagome’s gestures. Five fingers; five Jem’Hadar warriors. A single finger pointing; they’re over there. Worf held his hand up to knee height; where’s the child? Kagome shrugged. She couldn’t sense her aura.

Kagome’s foot caught on something on the ground, and she had to pull up quickly to avoid a noisy fall. Disentangling herself, she bent to examine the thing she’d tripped over; a loop of worked metal, like the handle of a weapon. She grabbed it and yanked; most of it seemed to be embedded in the dry, red earth. She couldn’t budge it. Silently, Worf reached over and, with a single tremendous heave, yanked it free. It was a long weapon with a wicked curve; a blade meant to be held across the wielder’s chest rather than pointing away from them like a sword.

“Bat’leth,” Worf whispered. “It is a Klingon blade.” Kagome hefted it, and found the weight of it very much to her liking. It was substantial enough to feel like she could do real damage with it, but not so heavy that she had trouble wielding it. She gave it an experimental twirl and grinned at what she found.

“Oh, baby, I have _got_ to get me one of these!” she whispered gleefully, swinging the bat’leth in a deadly arc and ending with a ferocious jab at the air before her. Worf was staring at her in utter disbelief, and she found herself blushing. “The balance on this thing is incredible,” she muttered in explanation, turning away from him – but keeping hold of the weapon.

They resumed their silent progress across the plain. Just as they crept warily past the door of the storehouse, Kagome felt a little pulse of reiki from inside. _Molly_. Waving her hands frantically to attract the Klingon’s attention, she gestured to knee height and then to the building beside them. He nodded, pointed at her, then toward where Molly was being held. A finger at his own chest, then toward the smaller building; he was going after the Jem’Hadar on his own. Kagome scowled. _Five_ , she reminded him. He nodded grimly. Pursing her lips, she nodded tightly. If he wanted to get himself killed, that was his prerogative; they didn’t have time to argue. He loped quietly off toward the other building, and she turned her attention to the storehouse door. It was chained shut, but a little gentle persuasion on the part of her bat’leth and she was inside.

It was dim inside; the ray of light from the recently-opened door illuminated little more than a dense cloud of glowing dust motes and the hazy outline of piled boxes. Trusting her aura, she crept through the building, feeling strange power resonating from some of the less dusty boxes.

“Molly?” she called softly; the little girl’s aura had faded into nothing. Kagome tried not to be nervous; she knew that Molly’s aura was unstable, and invisible was its default state, with sporadic flares. Still, the emptiness she felt was unsettling.

“K-Kagome?” The hesitant little voice was among the sweetest sounds Kagome had ever heard. Slipping quickly around the remaining boxes, she followed the sound to the back corner of the storeroom, where at last she found the little girl – bound, terrified, grungy and a little shaken up, but fundamentally unhurt. With a sigh of relief, she began using the pointed end of her new weapon to prise open the shackles around her wrists.

A shock of energy made Molly cry out in pain. _The bastards_ , Kagome thought, gritting her teeth. They’d imbued the bonds with youki, or their equivalent of it; it burned any miko that tried to tamper with it.

“Hang on, princess,” she whispered, setting her weapon aside and forming a barrier around the charged metal to protect Molly’s skin. A strong jolt of her own energy, the resulting blast contained neatly by her barrier, and the metal all but crumbled under her hands. A brief pulse of soothing energy over Molly’s burned wrists, and they were ready to go.

“OK, Molly,” she whispered, lifting the little girl into her arms and tapping the communicator to let the Defiant know to beam them up. “It’s time to get you back to your parents. I need you to listen to me, and do what I tell you, OK?” Molly nodded around frightened tears. “All right. Just hang on tight to me, sweetheart; don’t let go. Be quiet, no matter what happens, and try to keep your aura tight inside you. Remember how we talked about projecting it out? You find that same little handhold inside yourself, but instead of pushing it, you hold on tight. Can you do that for me?” Molly nodded again, burying her head in Kagome’s shoulder. “That’s my girl.”

When the Defiant still hadn’t responded, Kagome took silent stock and crept back through the warehouse, making for the place they’d been dropped off. The auras in the building next door hadn’t made any substantial movement. Before she’d made it halfway across the dim room, though, one of the auras disappeared.

Before the implications of that had fully sunk in, everything started happening at once. There was a roaring battle cry from the other side of the wall; her Klingon companion, she assumed. A strange whistling sound. Another aura disappeared. A moment’s thought: _three left_. And then the world exploded. 

Kagome had just enough time to throw up a barrier as a bomb went off where Molly had just been bound, then another in front of them and to the left. She could feel her barrier being sucked away, like someone had opened the door to her soul out onto the vacuum of space. Gasping, she dropped to her knees and tried to regroup, reinforcing her barrier from within. She tapped the communicator again, desperately trying to get the Defiant to get them out of there. There was another whistle – her heart sank as another went off behind her, and again, there was a feeling as if her very soul were being sucked out of her. The bombs, they were—they _drained_ her spiritual energy? She was already weak, weaker than she’d been in centuries; her vision was wavering, her head heavy and fogged, her hands and feet numb and unresponsive. There was no way she could get through if there were many more of them. Another blast went off just behind her, and for a moment, her barrier flickered. Gritting her teeth, she focused all her energy on her barrier. Another blast depleted her already scant spiritual reserved; she gasped, feeling her very life-force draining out of her.

Kagome lay on the packed earth and curled her body around Molly, who clung to her in desperate terror. One arm wound around the child’s shoulders, a strong hand cradling her head, torso twisted to shield most of her tiny frame, one leg drawn up, the knee covering the rest of her – check, check, check, check. There was a pretty good chance Molly would survive one more fireball, though Kagome almost certainly wouldn’t. She prayed one more would give the Defiant enough time to get the little girl out of there.

Kagome heard the telltale whistle of another bomb being ignited and squeezed her eyes shut. For half a moment she felt as thought she’d lost consciousness, or slipped into a dream; faintly aware of a strange sensation in her body, she clutched Molly tighter against her.

Suddenly she found that the sounds of combat and fire had been replaced by breathless silence. She cracked one eye; grey floor. Not burning boxes, not packed earth; grey. Floor.

Her head jerked up without her permission, and she met the wide eyes of Keiko O’Brien, who seemed to be holding her breath. By her side, Miles’ knuckles were white, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his stoic mask cracked. The transporter room. The Defiant. They’d made it. For a long second, everyone simply stared at her, as though waiting for something. Then the realization struck her, hard enough to make her flinch: _they thought Molly was dead_.

“Hey, princess,” she croaked, grimacing in distaste at the scraping feeling in her throat. She looked down at the mess of black hair and trembling limbs that clung to her like a lifeline, and ran a comforting hand up and down the girl’s arm as if to warm her. “Why don’t you go tell your mommy and daddy you’re OK?”

Molly raised a tear-streaked face and peered out from the shelter of Kagome’s arms. Meeting her mother’s desperate eyes, she vaulted suddenly out of Kagome’s lap, one little foot planting in Kagome’s stomach hard enough to make her grunt, and propelled herself across the floor and into Keiko’s waiting arms. Wheezing softly, Kagome sat back and watched the tearful reunion with a smile. All’s well that ends well.

The pad next to her on the transporter floor began to glow, and a shower of light dissolved into a very solid, looming Klingon. She grinned up at him, and extended a fist.

For a long moment, Worf merely scowled at her. Then, almost hesitantly, he balled one huge hand into a fist of his own and tapped her knuckles with his. A genuine, relieved smile replaced Kagome’s cheeky grin, and she sank back onto the transporter pad, relishing the moment: success, camaraderie, the simple pleasure of breathing clean air. The doctor was examining Molly, who was now perched happily in Miles’ arms, Keiko’s reassuring hand stroking her hair. Kagome took a deep breath and hauled herself up on her feet.

For a moment, the world around her faded into a blurry white wash. She blinked hard, and things came back into focus, but skewed and twisted; then suddenly the room started to list wildly. “Whoa,” she breathed, splaying the fingers of both hands and throwing her arms out on either side of her for balance. One of them caught hold of something; it was steady enough to keep her upright, but the ground under her feet was undulating in a most disconcerting way. Her hand was on fabric. An arm? An arm. The lights were dimming. A pair of brown eyes were glaring at her. 

“Sorry,” she rasped, and passed out in Worf’s arms. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Kagome floated in a sea of blackness, feeling strangely cold and isolated. Empty. There was a pervasive sense of wrongness; this wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. _What things?_ she asked herself, but found herself unable to answer. She was viewing the empty dark around her with no panic, but a strange detachment – like she wasn’t really there. She tried to look at her own hands, but the blackness was complete.

Suddenly desperate for some – any – kind of anchor, she strained her eyes in all directions. Nothing. Black. Cold. Emptiness.

But not silence, she realized. The sounds were faint and far-away, but she recognized the sound of voices among peculiar hums and beeps. Closing her eyes and focusing all her energy on the sound, she tried to make out the words. The voices were fading in and out, but she caught little snatches of a conversation: “... nothing wrong with her that I can see ...”; “... can’t understand ...”; “... nothing ... but wait ...”

She couldn’t follow it; everything seemed so hazy. She opened her eyes in frustration, steeling herself for the nothingness around her. When she did another instinctive sweep of her surroundings, though, she found that there was a tiny spark of pink light burning faintly just before her, no bigger than the head of a pin, hovering at chest level. She lifted her hands as if to cup it in her palms and found that even its faint light was enough to illuminate her skin in the blackness. A surge of irrational relief washed over her; she was real.

She couldn’t help being worried, though; the light was so faint, so weak. She knew instinctively that she had to protect it. It was important to her. She must not let it go out. But it was so weak!

A stronger voice broke through the blackness, nearer than any of the others, and a wave of warmth broke over her, starting from her right shoulder and whispering down her body. “She’s empty, like a bowl.” The voice was familiar. Rin? No, no – Rin was long gone. One of her daughters?

“Let me.”

Suddenly, a ribbon of warm purple light encircled the little pink dot between her palms. It streaked around it in awkward, jerky circles; the little flame, in turn, flickered and leaned, trying to get closer to the new light that was dancing clumsily around it. Finally, the purple ribbon wound itself into a knot around the pink spark, gradually tightening until the pink was completely hidden inside it. Kagome felt a momentary panic at the thought that her little light was going to be overwhelmed – but the purple sank completely into the pink spark, until there was no telling it had been there at all. Suddenly, the pink spark started expanding, the purple filling it out on the inside. Kagome caught the flame – now big enough to fill one palm – between her hands. It trembled like a living thing, timid and weak, still, but getting stronger by the moment. With all her heart and all her strength, she willed it to keep growing.

For a moment the flame in her hands shuddered, then began to writhe and twist, as though it were in pain. Kagome took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever came next. And the flame exploded.

Kagome felt herself going up like a roman candle, surrounded by a pillar of warm, pink light – a _familiar_ warmth, a _familiar_ light. The darkness was dispelled, the emptiness filled, the cold a dim memory. She felt whole again, and closed her eyes, throwing her head back in blissful relief.

When she opened her eyes, the glaring light reflected of a white ceiling nearly blinded her. She squeezed her eyes shut again, then blinked them open more cautiously. Dark brown eyes were staring down at her, a tanned brow creased in concern. Bashir. Julian – Doctor Julian Bashir. She was on Deep Space Nine. Memories of the last few weeks came flooding back to her, and she looked around her in sudden concern. Commander Sisko was there, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth; Miles and Keiko O’Brien were holding hands just to her right, the relief on their faces palpable. Finally, she met the dark eyes of the little girl was looking at her curiously from where she perched on the bed just by Kagome’s right shoulder.

“Molly,” Kagome whispered, suddenly conscious of how weak her voice was. “Thank you, princess.” 

“What—” Miles started, before looking to Julian for permission to continue his question. When Julian nodded, he continued, a little diffidently. “What did she do?”

“Kagome was empty,” Molly answered, without waiting for Kagome to speak. “They emptied her out.” She looked pleased with herself, as though that answered everything. The adults turned bemused gazes on Kagome.

“She’s right,” Kagome agreed, her voice still not much more than a whisper. “A miko’s power comes from her soul, and it’s self-sustaining – it regenerates itself. The tiny amount of spiritual energy it takes to sustain life in our bodies is enough to recharge any major expenditures of our power, given a bit of time. The Jem’Hadar were using bombs that sucked my soul out through the shield I was using to protect us from them – it was like they just pulled the stopper out from my soul, and pulled it all away. I was lucky that I was left with enough energy to keep my heart beating.”

“How many bombs did you survive?” The question came from Sisko, ever the pragmatist.

Kagome thought back to the horrific moments she’d spent in the burning warehouse. “Five,” she decided finally. Meeting the commander’s eyes, she added quietly, “One more would have killed me.”

He nodded, his face set in an impassive mask. “You told me once that you are among the strongest of your kind.”   
  
She nodded, wincing at the pain that shot through her head at the movement. “Any other miko I’ve ever known would have been killed by one, or two at the most.”

“And you were too weakened to escape.”   
  
“Yes; and any spiritual attack or block I could have tried would have ended in more of my energy being drained.” On thinking about it, she was horrified by the brutal efficacy of the weapon. Even with all the battles she’d lived through, she hadn’t been so close to death in centuries.

“But—” It was Miles again, that same diffidence in his voice. He searched the faces of the people around him, and swallowed. “But what did Molly do?”

Kagome smiled at the little girl who was blinking dazedly at her hands, then turned to her father. “She ... um ... jumpstarted my battery?” At his confused grimace, she grinned. “My energy had been depleted to almost nothing, so its regeneration had all but stopped. Molly lent me some of her energy to get the process going – just enough to get my soul to start replenishing itself again.”

She turned to face Molly, who was now staring into the middle distance with slightly glazed eyes. “How do you feel, princess?” she asked softly, knowing that it must have taken a lot out of her.

“A little sleepy,” she confided. Kagome nodded in understanding, suddenly exhausted herself.

“You’ve just performed your first healing, princess,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Now you need to recharge your battery, just like I do.” Opening her eyes one more time, the process far more difficult than she thought it really should have been, she smiled at the little miko by her side.

“You did great, Molly. I’m proud of you.” Her smile was weak, but absolutely genuine.

“May I stay with Kagome, mama?” Molly asked, her eyelids drooping. “I want to sleep here.”

Keiko looked to Kagome first, and at her smile, she turned to Julian. “It’s fine by me, but Kagome needs to rest now.” Keiko smiled at her daughter and settled her next to Kagome on the bed.

The homey feeling of a warm little body snuggling up next to her was Kagome’s undoing. She shifted, cradling Molly’s form with her own, and was asleep at once.


	8. Chapter 8

Kagome spent most of the next few days sleeping or meditating, and assuring Julian and the other doctors that she was fine. Her exhaustion ran deep; never before had her soul needed the same kind of rest and rebuilding as her body. After a few days of barely moving, she decided it was time to start training again, and said as much to Julian. To her astonishment, Worf volunteered to train her in the use of a bat’leth. She leapt at the chance, and they began scheduling an hour a day in the holosuites. It was a relief to move; Kagome’s muscles hadn’t quite had time to forget how to work, but it had been a long time since she had trained against another warrior. And Worf was good. She was gratified to find that he had been impressed by her intuitive skill with the blade during their mission together, and had been planning to offer to train her in any case; she had been sure he disapproved of her, but soon found that his unimpressed grimace was just where his features naturally rested. He was briefly chagrined when he found himself outmatched; Kagome was well used to sparring with partners who couldn’t beat her, but Worf was not. Still, he got over it quickly, and was an unrelenting taskmaster, drilling on the classical forms until she could perform them all as well as any Klingon.

After a week of alternating rest and exercise, she felt like she was back to herself again.

After a particularly energizing morning session in the holosuite with Worf, Kagome was meditating in her room when she felt it. Youki. Several strong youkai, one of them almost certainly a daiyoukai. Without pausing to think she leapt up and dashed through the halls, following the teasing tickle at the edge of her aura. Most of the auras had veered off toward Quark’s, though the daiyoukai seemed to be crossing the promenade. She headed for him.

Turning the final corner, her heart caught in her throat. The Lord of the East was speaking calmly to a few of the senior officers. Their old ally – a grizzled old wolf demon with a white beard. She could have wept with relief at seeing his familiar face. She took a deep breath, unmasked her scent and aura, and stepped forward, willing her knees not to shake. Sisko met her eyes and she smiled at him before turning to the old wolf, whose eyes widened slightly at the sight of her.

Throwing her shoulders back and raising her chin regally, Kagome drew a deep breath and began the old rote in a ringing voice.

“The West greets the East. May your lands prosper.”   
  
The youkai inclined his head, his surprise now hidden behind the old mask of civility. “The East greets the West. May your hunt never fail.”

Kagome too nodded, accepting his greeting. “How fares the rising sun?”   
  
“The East goes to war. Times are troubled. How fares the waxing moon?”  
  
Kagome couldn’t help but avert her eyes slightly, though she managed to keep her voice from trembling. “The West is in mourning.”

The old youkai’s eyes widened. “My heart bleeds.” He stopped, looking as though there were more he wanted to say. Finally, his eyes full of concern, he asked softly, “Sesshoumaru-sama?”

Kagome closed her eyes briefly and nodded once.

“My heart bleeds.” The scripted words were nothing more than a whisper, but pulsed with sincerity. For a long moment he stared at her, his fists clenching as though he were resisting the urge to reach out to her.

Finally, he took a deep breath. “Kagome-sama,” he called softly, breaking completely from the etiquette of tradition. Lords did not address each other by name in public. It was not done.

“Yorozoku-sama,” she whispered, fighting back tears. It was suddenly hard, it was so hard to see him like this – as an old friend rather than an ally, a Cardinal Lord.

“Child,” he whispered, closing the gap between them and pulling her into a gentle embrace. Kagome felt tears burning at her eyes, but was helpless to stop them. She leaned her head against the old man’s shoulder and gratefully accepted the comfort he offered her. “My heart bleeds,” he said again, his voice rumbling through his chest. He nuzzled her temple gently with his grizzled cheek, a gesture of affection and comfort.

Finally pulling away to meet her eyes, he asked in a low voice, “You seek vengeance?”   
  
Kagome raised her chin proudly and answered, “I seek justice.”  
  
The old wolf demon let out a rusty-sounding chuckle. “Lady of the West,” he started, laying a gnarled finger across her lips, “your words are human, but – ” he moved his finger to rest lightly against the pulse at her neck – “you have the heart of a youkai.”

Kagome couldn’t help but smile wryly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”   
  
“It was intended as one.” The old demon looked at her shrewdly for a moment. “It was the Jem’Hadar.”

She nodded once.

“You are alone here?”

Nod.

“You were brought against your will.”   
  
Nod.

“Why?”

Kagome took a deep breath. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my lord,” she started slowly, “the Jem’Hadar have spiritual energy that is very much like youki.”  
  
It was the wolf’s turn to nod. “They have sought allegiances with many of the strongest daiyoukai, I believe.”

Kagome hazarded a guess. “By kidnapping them and forcing them to cooperate on pain of death, or the death of their loved ones?”

The old wolf smiled, his fangs glistening wetly. “Indeed.”

“I know no more of that part of their plan than you,” she murmured, eyes wandering over the wall behind him. How she wished she did! “But,” she continued, snapping her gaze back to his face, “there is one thing I do know.” Yorozoku raised one eyebrow, indicating she should continue.

“If you have alliances with any miko, you should look to their safety.”

For half a moment the wolf squinted at her before his eyes flared in understanding. “Reiki can injure them.”

Kagome nodded. “And they appear to be attempting to neutralize the threat.”

The old demon broke into an uncharacteristically ferocious scowl. “You are in danger,” he snarled.

Kagome lay a calming hand on his forearm. “I keep my aura masked while I’m here. They actually came here on a raid and took a child – her powers weren’t even developed! – but they didn’t detect me at all. Their powers are far weaker than youkais’. I am as safe here as anywhere.”

Although the old wolf looked unconvinced, he nodded in acknowledgement and turned away to glare at the wall. Finally coming to a decision, he met her gaze once more.

“Lady of the West, the East thanks you for your tidings.” He bowed his head, making her blush. Youkai _never_ bowed to each other.

“The West is at your back,” she managed, bowing her own head.

“As the East is at yours,” he answered, slipping easily back into the rote. Grey eyes sharpening, he reached out and caught her hand in one of his. “You will call if you are in need.” It was not a question, nor an offer – nor even a demand. It was a statement of fact. Kagome couldn’t help but smile as she gave his steel-strong fingers a gentle squeeze.

“I will.” For a moment, she floundered; none of the farewell formulas seemed quite appropriate. She settled on the one that most nearly approximated her feelings. “May the forest be full and your claws never dry.” _Happy hunting._

He gave her a feral grin. “May the ravens be sated in your wake.” _Kill many._ With those words, he turned back to Sisko, and indicated that they should continue their conversation as they walked on to the commander’s office. Worf and Dax stayed with her, exchanging anxious glances.

For a long moment, Kagome stared after her old friend, her heart in her throat. Seeing him here was so strange, so totally out of context, but ... there was so much of home in that wizened old face. 

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the sudden disappearance of the smaller youki or the figures creeping up behind her until it was too late. 

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed her from behind and swung her into the air. Gasping as a whoosh of air was squeezed from her lungs, Kagome instinctively grabbed her attacker and flipped him over her shoulder, hand flickering with purifying power as she dropped a knee on his chest to pin him down. From the corner of her eye, she saw Worf and Dax in defensive positions, ready to leap into action; she sent them a look saying that she had it under control, and looked down at the person she had pinned to the ground. She blinked at the grinning face below her, spiky blond mohawk and all.

“Hi, sis!” the young wolf demon crowed, looking entirely too pleased with himself given that he’d just had his ass handed to him by a woman a quarter his size. “Sorry I scared you – we just wanted it to be a surprise.”

Still gaping, she drew back, allowing him to get to his feet. _We. We?_ Whirling, she saw another grinning face just behind her, grey hair with the black tuft just as she remembered it.

“Ginta,” she gasped, then turned back to the one who’d pounced on her. “Hakkaku – I...” words failed her. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

Ginta grinned cheekily at her. “It’s good to see you too, sis!”

“Yeah!” cried Hakkaku, not to be outdone. Looking around curiously, he added, “Where’s Lord Icicle-up-the-Ass?”

“Idiots!” a third voice roared from behind them, and suddenly their heads were seized by strong hands and cracked sharply against each other. And there was Kouga.

Kagome looked over at the wolf demon who’d tried so hard to make her his mate back in the Feudal Era. He had grown; he was taller, his shoulders broader, a certain wisdom on his face that hadn’t been there before. At the moment, he was berating his friends in a low growl.

“Do you smell his scent on her, you morons? Does it smell like him _anywhere_ on this ship? If you’d stopped to think, just for a _moment_ used those ugly lumps of muscles instead of letting them rot on your shoulders, maybe you would have figured that maybe something was wrong and that you should find out _what_ before you just blurt out something like that?” He released Hakkaku’s collar, and his friend sagged backwards, sending Kagome an apologetic look.

“It’s OK, Kouga-kun,” she said, almost smiling despite herself. He was so protective of her, even now. Turning to the three of them, who were now regarding her with mournful concern, she explained quietly that they’d been captured by the Jem’Hadar and that Sesshoumaru was dead. By the end of her story, Kouga was fuming.

“Using your pup against you? Those bastards are _low_. How could those honorless scum ...” He trailed off, remembering that there was something more important to be said.

“Kagome,” he said quietly, clasping her hand between both of his own, “my heart bleeds.” Ginta and Hakkaku bowed their heads in agreement from behind him.

Their sympathy was unbearable. She had to change the subject. Taking a deep breath, she floundered for an appropriate topic of conversation, failed, shut her eyes, opened her mouth, and asked the first thing that came into her mind.

“How’s Ayame?”   
  
Kouga’s face lit up, and Kagome almost sighed with relief; seemed she’d chosen well.

“She’s doing just great, Kags – she’s pupped!” Kagome’s jaw dropped in exaggerated shock.

“Jeez, Kouga, after all these centuries, still can’t keep it in your pants?” she teased, making the wolf blush crimson and shuffle like a schoolboy.

“It’ll be our third,” he confided, his voice conveying his pride and awe. Demons were only fertile about once every ten years, so the odds of two mates being fertile at the same time were low; even with demons’ long lifespans, it was rare for a house to have more than one heir. Kagome’s was an exception; humans’ monthly fertility was a blessing – provided you didn’t mind hanyou heirs.

Kouga’s bluster came back after barely a moment’s pause, and he winked at her before declaring in a voice loud enough to make his companions wince, “In any case, Kags, if there’s more you want to know about what I keep in my pants ...” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, looking so much like a combination of his old self and Miroku at his perviest,  Kagome couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

It was the first time she’d really laughed since Sesshoumaru died, and to her horror, she soon found that she couldn’t rein it back in; it was bubbling hysterically out from her chest, even when she clapped her hands over her mouth. Suddenly she found that her eyes were full of tears, and her laughter was coming out more as choked sobs. 

With a look of almost-tender understanding, Kouga drew her into a tight embrace and began a low rumbling growl in his chest, just like the one Sesshoumaru used to give for her and her pups when they were upset. Desperately clutching the silk of his haori in her fists, she sobbed into his shoulder as if she’d never stop. He nuzzled her temple gently, just as his grandfather had done, and just let her cry.

Kagome wept for Sesshoumaru, the only man she’d ever love, who’d died in the peak of his power; she wept for herself, for the endless loneliness she’d have to endure without him; she wept for her children, who had lost their hero as well as their father; she wept for the West, which had lost the greatest leader in its history; she wept for the world, which was more barren place without him. She wept until her eyes couldn’t produce more tears, and sobbed even then; she wept until her head was throbbing with the effort; she wept until she could barely stand.

Dimly, she realized that she was still standing in the middle of the promenade, Worf and Dax looking helplessly on, Kouga growling and stroking her hair. Flushing, she drew back from her old friend, who was looking at her with piercing eyes.

“You hadn’t really mourned him, had you?” Kouga’s voice was so strangely gentle.

She gulped loudly. “When did you grow up and get so damn perceptive?”

He let out a bark of laughter. “We first met over eight hundred years ago, Kags. If I hadn’t grown up at all since then it’d be pretty concerning, right?” She gave him a faint smile, nodding reluctantly. “And in any case,” he continued, “I know you, Kags. You never take care of yourself. If there’s anyone else whose needs you can put before your own, you’ll run yourself ragged for them and never think about yourself until you collapse. And you can _always_ find people who need your help and protection.” He smiled sadly at her and trailed a claw down her cheek. “It’s one of the reasons we love you so much.”

“But remember,” he continued, his voice taking on an authority she’d rarely heard in it. “You need to look after yourself. Sesshoumaru was good at forcing you to look to your own needs, but without him here, you’re going to have man up and actually _take_ what you need. Give yourself time to grieve. He wouldn’t want you to drown in your own misery.”

Kagome knew he was telling the truth and nodded sadly, biting her bottom lip. Kouga’s eyes softened, and he reached out as if to draw her into another embrace. 

A long howl rang out through the promenade, making everyone stop to look around for the source of it. Kouga growled.

“God, why can’t the old man use a goddamn communicator like everyone else? Sorry, Kags, that’s our cue. We’re going to go take out some Jem’Hadar sons-of-bitches for you and Sesshoumaru.”

She smiled bravely and took his hands in her own. “Be safe, Kouga.”   
  
“Always,” he answered, flashing her his old cocky grin. Dropping her hands, he glanced behind him at Ginta and Hakkaku. “You two think you can actually keep up this time?” They groaned in unison as he took off in a sprint toward the transporter rooms, and called their farewells to their ‘sister’ as they chased after him.


	9. Chapter 9

The following afternoon, after a session of drills and sparring that left her feeling like she was queen of the world, Kagome was shocked to find a summons waiting on the personal computer in her room; Commander Sisko wanted her to be present for a meeting with the high-ranking staff. About defense against the Dominion. An _official_ meeting.

She sank onto the couch under the weight of a surge of relief so vivid it made her hands tremble. They trusted her. They _finally_ trusted her.

From that moment on, she felt as though she hardly had a moment to herself. The crushing weight of her grief was lightened, somewhat, by the constant whirlwind of activity; meeting, holosuite sparring with Worf, meeting, consultation with Sisko, consultation with Odo, sessions of tinkering with imbuing reiki into the defense systems with O’Brien, meeting, meditation and practice with Molly, meeting. Every night, she tumbled into a dreamless slumber, utterly exhausted; it was as close to happiness as she ever expected to find. She remembered to eat occasionally – usually when reminded by Dax or Julian, both of whom had grown rather fond of her – but otherwise kept herself as engaged in the defensive planning as she possibly could.

One afternoon, Kagome was in Ops discussing the possibility of creating some kind of synthetically amplified reiki ray, something powerful enough to be used by a garden-variety miko, when a blast from inside the wall shook the room.

Sisko glared around them. “Report,” he barked at Kira, who was tapping at the console in front of her.   
  
“Shield are down, sir,” she called, scowling at her screen. “Minor toronium leak; nothing dangerous. No casualties.”  
  
“O’Brien,” Sisko called warningly, turning to pin the Irishman with a glare – but Miles had already removed the access panel and crawled into the wall.

“Aye, sir,” he called after a moment of crashing about. “Corrosion on one of these bloody ducts has knocked out a whole slew of the safeties – the shield generator’s been cut off from the bloody power supply.”   
  
“Fix it, chief,” Sisko said in an oddly sing-song voice, impatience and irritation snapping under the surface.

“Aye, sir,” said the wall by the door, followed by a string of muttered oaths about ‘bloody Cardassian engineers.’

Kagome grinned at the scene, relieved at the normalcy of it. It was almost – homey. She turned back to the commander, ready to resume their discussion of reiki-powered weaponry. Before she could open her mouth, though, Kira cried out in shock. 

“Sir!” She whirled, her expressive face pale and panicked. “A Jem’Hadar warship just came through the wormhole – they’re headed right for us.”

For one long moment, everyone in Ops simply stared at each other in dismay.

Sisko recovered first. “Yellow alert. Major, arm phasers, and lock onto target. Chief, I need those shields back _now_.”

“I need time, sir!” he called from inside the wall. “I’m going to fix each of these bloody safeties individually ...”

“I don’t care what you have to do, O’Brien, but we need those shields. _Now._ ”

Kagome’s mind was whirling. Time. She could give them time. It was risky – OK, it was flat-out suicidal – but she could give them time.

Nodding decisively to herself, she moved the center of Ops and sat down, settling her legs into the lotus position, and rested her upturned hands on her knees.

“You have until the first weapon fires, Miles; after that it’s on you,” she called. Sisko stared at her, uncertain, as a shimmering pink sphere enclosed her form. She took a deep breath, and pushed.

The sphere spread quickly out around her, passing harmlessly through the crew who stood staring. When the barrier covered all of the central core, she stopped to take a breath. It was the largest barrier she’d ever created.

“What are you doing?” Sisko’s voice was sharp, his eyes narrowed.

“Barrier,” she answered tersely. “Central core’s covered.”

Releasing a measured breath, she pushed her barrier outwards, feeling delicate fingers of her power caressing metal and plastic. Habitat ring. She paused again, her breath hissing out between pursed lips. Just a little more.

Out. Just a little more. Out. Just a little more. The words echoed in her mind, becoming her mantra. The barrier was huge, tens of times bigger than anything she’d created before. Out. Just a little more.

Then she felt it; the docking ring. It was done. The whole space station – all 1500 meters of it, or however huge it was – was inside her barrier.

“Is the entire base protected now?” Sisko demanded, his eyes still trained on her straining face. She nodded curtly, not trusting herself to speak.

“How much firepower can you ...”

“Don’t...” she interrupted, her jaw spasming with the force with which she was clenching it. “Don’t distract me.” She felt as though she were balancing on the head of a pin while holding up something heavy and unwieldy; the slightest wobble and her whole beautiful barrier would come crashing down.  She wouldn’t be able to deflect much; as spread out as she was, a single bomb like those she’d seen before would probably kill her.  She’d pushed herself as far as she could; a tremendous proportion of her soul was outside herself, vulnerable to attack.

“Miles.” Her voice so rough she almost didn’t recognize it. “Shields?”

“Bollocks!” The expletive burst from behind one of the access panels. “I’m working as fast I can here,” he groused, sticking his head out to have a look at an instrument on one of the consoles, checking some kind of measurements.

More tinkering. A clang. Another curse. Click-click-click-click. Check the instrument. Curse. Kagome’s breathing was growing ragged, the strain of her exertions beginning to take a toll on her. The ship on the viewscreen was still approaching, but didn’t appear to be attacking. What the _hell_ were they planning? 

Clang. Curse. The buzzing of some kind of welder. The shields flickered, pushing gingerly at Kagome’s power, then fell again.

“God-damn bloody mother-fucking son of a BITCH,” Kagome growled through clenched teeth. She felt cold all over, but a bead of sweat was slipping ticklishly down one temple; she grit her teeth around the maddening urge to scratch at it. She didn’t dare move her hands.

“Captain,” Kira’s voice interrupted Kagome’s desperation, an urgency to it she hadn’t before heard. “They’re lowering shields.”

“Scan.” Sisko was on his feet leaning over her console before the word was fully out of his mouth.

“Nothing unusual about the condition of the ship, sir; though ...” Kira trailed off, a confused frown crinkling her brow. “There appears to be only one life form on board, sir.” She turned to look up at her commander. “What’s he _doing_?” Their eyes met, and for a long moment no one spoke.

Suddenly, Kira’s attention snapped abruptly back to the console in front of her. “Sir,” she started again, a tinge of excitement coloring her voice. “He’s transmitted a written message. He wants to speak with you privately.”

Sisko stared at her for a moment; that was unorthodox. Still, given the unusual situation – and the relative lack of danger – he could make a single, safe concession in exchange for some actual answers. With a cheeky smirk blossoming slowly on his features, he instructed the major on the message to return to their visitor, and strode off to his office. 

“YES!” The cry of triumph burst from behind a wall just as Kagome felt the shields stretch lazily, then expand like a beast taking a deep breath after a long sleep. “Gotcha, stubborn bugger that you are.”

Her barrier popped like a giant pink soap bubble, and she flopped backwards onto the floor, gasping. Miles popped out of the access panel, grinning broadly. Not raising her head from the floor, she grinned back. “Good work, chief.”  
  
“You too, crazy pink glowy lady,” he returned, clearly in high spirits. 

“Miko,” she reminded him.

“Whatever you say,” he agreed amiably. “Buy you a drink?”

“ _God,_ yes.” Kagome hauled herself up to her feet, grinning over at Kira. “Break time, major?”

Kira squinted speculatively at the viewscreen, chewing at the corner of her lower lip. Before she could decline, Sisko’s voice came through her communicator.

“Major, lower yellow alert. The man on that ship isn’t Jem’Hadar; he’s an escaped POW. We’re offering him asylum; the constable and I will meet him in the transporter room. I’ll keep you informed.”

She confirmed the commander’s message, a slow smile spreading  across her face and making her blue eyes twinkle. She turned to the young man sitting at the console beside hers. “You can handle this for now, right, ensign?”

His face lit up. He nodded eagerly, a head of unruly black curls bobbing wildly. “Yes, sir!”

“All right, then – call me _immediately_ if there’s _anything_ out of the ordinary.”   
  
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The young man looked like he was about to fall off his chair. She let out a quiet snort of laughter and joined Kagome and Miles by the door to the Promenade, muttering under her breath about the enthusiasm of fresh recruits.

As the three made their way toward Quark’s, Kagome noticed that Kira kept glancing over at her as if trying to work up her nerve to do or say something. Finally, she managed to catch the major’s eyes and gave her a friendly smile. Kira returned the smile with an uncharacteristic hesitancy, but did return it.

“Kagome,” Kira started, seeming emboldened by Kagome’s open smile. “I feel like we haven’t ... I mean, I don’t know very much about you.” Kagome nodded, knowing what she meant. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with details about her life – and it was a strange, strange story, sure enough.

She met Kira’s eyes as they entered Quark’s, Miles heading immediately for a large table where Dax, Worf, and Dr. Bashir had clearly just settled themselves.

“What do you want to know?”


	10. Chapter 10

An hour or so later, Kagome’s laugh echoed like chimes across the canteen. “God, they all _hated_ me,” she managed, still giggling. “A mere human, mated to the Lord of the West? Preposterous!” She struck an affected pose, looking down her nose imperiously at Dax before dissolving into giggles again.

“They hated you because you were human,” Worf stated, though Kagome decided it was really more of a question. She shrugged, still smiling at the memory.

“That was part of it. And to be fair, I guess they had every right to hate me,” she started. “I mean, OK, I’m human and most demons consider humans to be totally beneath them – _and_ , as a human, I can’t give him a full-blooded heir, and half-breeds aren’t particularly well-regarded. Or weren’t at the time, anyway; things have changed in the last few centuries. But it was more than that.” She stretched her arms behind her chair, then began absently rubbing a sore muscle in her forearm. “Sesshoumaru was the most sought-after bachelor in Japan for hundreds of years before we mated. He was,” she started, holding up one finger, “wealthy beyond imagination, thanks to his father’s imperialist tendencies;” she added another finger and continued, “politically powerful beyond imagination, again thanks to Inu-Papa, and,” she finished, bringing a third finger up, “personally powerful beyond imagination as well. He’s the strongest demon alive, and has been for a thousand years. His aura is ...” She paused, searching for the right words. “With most people, their aura hovers around them about like this.” She gestured with her arms, indicating a space around her head with a radius of a foot or two. “With Sesshoumaru – touching his aura is like ... it’s like being dropped into the sea. It’s ...” She shook her head in remembered awe. “It’s endless. Just ... limitless power. It’s staggering.”

Opening her eyes, she realized that her new friends were staring at her in wonder. She grinned, and added wickedly, “He was also a prime piece of ass.”

“Piece of ass?” Worf inquired, his tone clinical, as Dax choked on her iced raktajino.

“Sexy,” Kagome agreed. Worf frowned.  

“You can’t say a thing like that and not tell us what he looked like,” Kira said, grinning. “Most desirable bachelor in several centuries? Spill, girl!” 

Kagome’s smile turned dreamy and her eyes misted over. “He was ...” she paused, considering how to word it. “Beautiful. Terrifying and beautiful.” She lifted her glass absently and sipped at the strange blue drink, wrinkling her nose at the sharply herbal taste. “Tall; even taller than you, Worf. Strong beyond imagining, physically and spiritually.” Her smile broadened, and she called up his face in her mind’s eye. “Silver hair down to his knees that never seemed to tangle; it was like a moonlit river. Gold eyes. Pale skin, perfect and completely unscarred despite all his battles. Stripes,” she added, grinning and gesturing to her own cheekbones. “Two magenta ones on each cheek, and a blue crescent moon on his forehead, the mark of his mother’s people.” She traced the outline of a moon on her own forehead in illustration. “And the way he moved ... it was ...” She found herself at a loss again. “It was like water. Or like ... a panther? I don’t even know. A predator. Strong, smooth, silent, completely self-assured, no hesitation; equal parts power and grace.” She shivered, remembering the way he looked in battle – untouchable. Unbeatable. Elegance personified – deadly elegance.

It was so hard to believe he was gone.

To her horror, Kagome found that there were tears pricking at the backs of her eyes again. She snapped her attention back to her companions. Kira was regarding her with rapt attention, clearly loving every second of her description; Worf, Julian, and Miles were feigning disinterest; Dax had a look of understanding and compassion on her face that nearly undid Kagome’s hard-won composure. She forced a cheeky smile to her face, coming up with a way to break this strange tension.

“And that was just his humanoid form,” she added, as if it were a mere afterthought. Sure enough, all eyes suddenly lit with interest. “His true form is a huge white dog.”   
  
“A _dog?!_ ” Kira and Miles cried in unison, while the others boggled at her. She grinned and nodded. 

“A _big_ dog,” she agreed, amused by their shock. “He’s probably ... mmmmmm ... thirty feet tall? Forty?” She looked around the room calculatingly. “He wouldn’t fit in here,” she decided. “Maybe out in the promenade, but not in here – unless you took all the furniture out and he were lying down, then maybe, I guess.”

“Twelve ... meters ...” Miles whispered, stunned. Julian was gaping at her like a beached fish.

“So,” Dax said, swirling her drink idly in one hand, the ice clinking gently against the sides of the glass, “You meant it when you said that you were a pack animal.”

Kagome nodded. “I really did. I’ve spent the last eight hundred years as part of a pack; as the alpha bitch, as a matter of fact.”

“What does that even mean?” Kira asked, bemused.

“Well,” she started, “basically, it means I’m the dominant one in every interaction – unless it’s with my mate. I am trusted to make decisions for all my packmates; I am responsible for their care and wellbeing. I protect; I provide. I offer submission to my mate and no one else.”

“Submission.” Dax’s voice was skeptical. Kagome smiled and nodded.

“It made me nervous at first, too,” she agreed. “I’ve always been an independent spirit, and it made me really antsy to think that I’d just have to mindlessly agree to whatever Sesshoumaru said. But that’s not actually how it works.” She ran her hands absently through her hair, wondering quite how to articulate it. “It’s more a matter of trust.” A glance around the table showed that though no one was convinced yet, they hadn’t dismissed her as nuts – they were taking it better than she’d feared. Maybe constant exposure to other species and cultures would make them more tolerant of youkai society?

She took a deep breath and continued. “When I offer my submission to my mate, what I’m saying is that I trust him to act in my best interest, just as I physically, immediately trust him not to rip out the throat I’m baring to him. He is the one who makes the final decision, and I would be expected to follow his commands even if I disagreed with them – but as a matter of fact, that never happened. Because he was a good alpha. He always made the decisions that really _were_ in our best interest, mine and the pack’s. Eventually – and I have to admit, it did take a while – I stopped second-guessing him. We still discussed important things, but I trusted him more and pressed him for his reasons less.” Her companions were nodding, though Dax still had a rebellious glint in her eyes that made Kagome smile. It reminded her a bit of her, as a fiery teen in feudal Japan.

She met Dax’s gaze and nodded. “I always knew that it was possible that a time would come a time when I might have to defy him; if he gave me an order I couldn’t follow in good conscience, I would not have followed it. But that was a last resort – it would have meant the end of my marriage, the end of my status as pack ... and possibly the end of my life. But as I say, because Sesshoumaru _was_ such a good alpha, I found myself worrying about that eventuality less and less. And in any case, every relationship takes compromise, right?” Kagome didn’t miss the little exchange of glances between Dax and Worf – _hit the nail on the head_ , she thought with a certain satisfaction. “His compromise was to listen to my counsel, to take my feelings and beliefs into consideration before he made his decisions. Mine was to make allowances for his instincts, which demanded submission. In private, I talked and he listened – but I was always the model mate in front of others. Submissive and obedient. Docile, even.” She grinned wickedly at a sudden thought. “But _only_ to my mate. Everyone else learned the hard way that I refuse to be pushed around.”

Her smile faded a bit. _Sesshoumaru_. He was always there; her protector, her support. He didn’t let anyone push her around, either. She was happy to fight her own battles – but only did so when he didn’t get there first, or he would have disposed of anyone who so much as looked at her askance. Her champion. She turned her eyes deliberately away and faced the dark window, not even noticing the explosion of swirling cloud and golden light as the wormhole flickered open.

...

The doors to Quark’s slid open, and Commander Sisko and Constable Odo entered, accompanying a tall stranger. Dax gasped and the rest of the table – save Kagome, whose eyes were still fixed sightlessly on the window – turned to look at the new arrival. He was wearing tattered robes of white and red – and he had long silver hair and stripes on his cheekbones. Dax lay one hand over Kagome’s and squeezed, hard.

“What—?” Kagome started, before noting that everyone was looking behind her. As soon as she’d opened her mouth, Dax noted, the stranger’s eyes – golden eyes – had snapped to their table and he’d frozen completely. Slowly, hesitantly, Kagome turned in her chair to follow the direction of everyone’s gaze.

Their eyes met. A hush fell over the whole canteen; even Quark’s crass banter came to a halt as he watched the pair speculatively from behind the bar, the glass he’d been polishing forgotten in his hands.

Kagome stood on trembling legs and took a few steps towards him, not breaking eye contact. For a moment she paused, still a few feet away from him.

“You have masked your scent and aura,” he stated quietly, the rich baritone voice washing over her skin like a caress.

She nodded distractedly and gave him a weak smile. “You’ve hidden your aura, too. Unknown territory, right?” He inclined his head in acknowledgement. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, releasing the barrier that hid her scent from him.

His eyes flashed red and he gulped in a ragged breath. Suddenly, she felt as though she were suffocating; she _needed_ him, _now_. With a broken sob, she hurled herself into his arms.

Strong arms caught her as though she weighed nothing, and she found herself enveloped in a crushing embrace. One clawed hand slid through her hair, the other pressing her tight against his body; his shoulders were hunched around her, as though he were trying to physically surround her. His nose was in her hair, in her neck; he was drinking in deep, greedy pulls of her scent like a drowning man pulling for air. Her hands were fisted in the worn silk of his robe, her face buried against his chest; she couldn’t help the tears that were pouring down her cheeks.

He drew back from her for a moment, palms on her cheeks, and she found that his eyes were red, his stripes dark and jagged, his fangs elongated. He slid one hand back into her hair again and tugged, pulling her head backwards; she took the hint and bared her throat to him. With a low growl, he took the offered throat between his teeth, fangs scraping gently against the tender skin. She shut her eyes, reveling in the familiar sweetness of the gesture. His beast satisfied, Sesshoumaru began licking up her neck in long swipes, burying his face in her shoulder again as she threaded her fingers through his silk-soft hair, rubbing his scalp and nuzzling his temple with her cheek.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulled back, his eyes – now golden again – dark with concern. Cupping her cheek in one clawed hand, he asked, “You are unharmed?”   
  
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak around her tears. “I’m fine,” she managed after a moment.

His brow creased in a scowl. “You look pale.” He looked her up and down, and his scowl deepened. “You have gotten thinner.”

She managed a watery smile, though even that broke when she opened her mouth to explain. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice cracking; she bit her bottom lip, hard. A tear overflowed from one eye and slid down her cheek, followed almost immediately by another, then another. Before she could do more than take a shaky breath, she found herself hauled back into a strong embrace, a big hand stroking her hair, a soothing rumble vibrating through his chest under her cheek.

She felt him take a deep breath. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he growled, his voice full of conviction.

She managed a little chuckle, and drew back to look him in the eyes. “Ditto.” He smiled at her, one of his rare, genuine smiles, and pressed his lips tenderly to hers. She found herself responding to his kiss with abandon, slipping her tongue wantonly into his mouth, scraping her fingernails against his scalp, arching her body tight against his, making him groan appreciatively into her mouth as his hands molded her tighter against him.

When he drew back she could only blink up at him, eyes clouded with passion, breathing erratic, face flushed, wondering what was wrong. He slid a claw gently down her cheek and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “When we don’t have an audience,” he whispered into her hair. She gasped; she’d completely forgotten where they were and the fact that most of the inhabitants of Deep Space Nine were staring at them. She glanced around her, abashed; yep, everyone was staring. Miles gave her a big thumbs-up, Kira smacking his shoulder in good-natured rebuke; Worf was looking impassively into his prune juice; Julian gave her a cheeky jerk of his chin and a broad wink; Dax was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She flushed hotly and buried her face in Sesshoumaru’s shoulder. His chuckle rumbled through her, a healing balm to her aching heart.


	11. Chapter 11

Kagome and Sesshoumaru didn’t emerge from their quarters the following day until well after noon.

Kagome found that no matter how she tried, she couldn’t bear to be separated from him, physically – even as they lay in bed talking about all that had gone on since the last time they’d seen each other, she found herself reaching for his hand, winding his hair around her fingers, twining her foot around his ankle, cuddling into his side. Sesshoumaru, for his part, simply slid one heavy hand into her hair and pulled her close, relaxed almost to the point of sleep by the steady rhythm of her heart and the sweet familiarity of her scent mingled with his own. After so many weeks of constant anxiety and tension, knowing that she was likely dead, knowing that even had she lived there was no way to track her, the simple luxury of breathing the same air was irresistible. 

Eventually, though, Kagome managed to pry some information out of him, wriggling under one boneless arm and nudging his jaw with her nose to try to get him to focus. With a sigh, he nuzzled her temple, kissed her hair, and began answering her unspoken questions.

He had been beamed off the ship, probably at the same moment she had – but by the Jem’Hadar, onto another ship that was cloaked nearby. They didn’t bother taking her off the ship because she was a threat to be eliminated; as long as she died, it didn’t matter how. He, on the other hand, was meant for testing – they had developed ways of draining a youkai’s spiritual power and using it to create bombs. The trouble was that weaker youkai were killed in the process. It seemed like the Dominion wanted to capture the daiyoukai because he could essentially be used as a rechargeable battery – as long as they waited sufficient intervals for him to recover his strength between draining his youki, he would provide them with limitless power. The first time they had done it, Sesshoumaru had been taken by surprise; the amount of his power that they drained – through a mechanism much like what they employed in their reiki-draining bombs, apparently – they left him weak and utterly helpless; for nearly a week he could do little more than raise his head from the pallet in his cell. By then, they had determined that their operations would be successful, and decided to ship him off to the Dominion homeworld, rather than continuing to keep him on the Jem’Hadar base. They had, however, entirely underestimated his regenerative power – and did not live to regret their mistake. On the second day of their journey, Sesshoumaru broke out of his confines, silently killed every living being on the ship, and headed for the wormhole.

“When did you learn how to fly a starship?” Kagome asked incredulously, raising herself up on one elbow to look down at the demon below her. He smirked, and raised one shoulder in an elegantly dismissive shrug.

“I don’t understand,” Kagome grumbled as she climbed over his prone form to straddle his waist, the sheet tangling around her limbs as she did, “how a man can manage to look so superior when he’s buck naked and flat on his back. Shouldn’t you look ... I don’t know, subdued?”  
  
A clawed hand slid up her leg as he surged forward to capture her pouting lips in a kiss. “Forgive me,” he murmured into her hair, his kisses having wandered up her jaw and across her neck. “It’s hard for said prone, naked man to keep from feeling _superior_ when he has a beautiful woman climbing him like a tree.” She gasped as he bit her earlobe gently, and forgot her questions for a while.

...

At 14:04, the viewscreen in the conference room was still displaying the emblem of the Federation; they were late. Sesshoumaru let out a low growl. He was unimpressed. Kagome winced – she knew what it was thinking. No child of his should be late, ever. She sighed internally and reconciled herself to returning to the familiar role of mediator between her mate’s astronomical expectations and her children’s natural imperfections. 

Suddenly, a message flashed across the screen: it was addressed to Benjamin Sisko, and informed the station that the Tokyo office was having technical difficulties, and they apologized for the delay. Sesshoumaru relaxed almost imperceptibly by her side, and Kagome mentally breathed a sigh of relief. She did not want him to be reunited with his children in a pissy mood.

Before she could think much further, however, the screen flickered to life, and there they were.

“Okaa-sama, I apologize...” Souta trailed off.

“Greetings to the West,” Sesshoumaru boomed. “May your lands prosper.” Kagome couldn’t help but note the way one eye crinkled smugly – he was enjoying this.

“M-may your hunt never fail,” his son stammered, eyes wide. For a long moment, there was silence as they regarded each other – Sesshoumaru taking in his children’s shock and relief, the seven heirs of the West basking in their father’s presence. Sesshoumaru slipped one arm around Kagome’s waist, clawed hand coming to rest on her hip, and pulled her against him. She burrowed against him and nuzzled his shoulder, eyes never leaving her children’s faces.

“Papa.” It was Sango, her eyes glimmering with tears. He inclined his head, a small smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. One by one he met his children’s eyes, reconnecting with them, wordlessly reassuring them. He came to Souta last.

“How fares the waxing moon, Lord of the West?” he asked finally, a brow quirking in amusement.

Souta gaped at him for a moment before recollecting himself. “The West prospers; our forests are full, our rivers teem with fish.” The rote finished, he took a gulp of air. “Our alliance with the Federation has strengthened; we have offered our support in the war against the Dominion. In return, the Federation has backed our claim to the lands at the Southern border; there will be no more bloodshed there.”

Sesshoumaru nodded. “You have done well.” The words were so soft Kagome barely heard them, but Souta fairly glowed with pride. He bowed his head in thanks. 

“Father,” he started, then paused, unsure. He glanced and Sango, whose sympathetic eyes encouraged him. “I—we—we are glad ...” He took a deep breath. “Father, it is so good to see you.” A slight flush rose on his cheekbones, as though he expected to be mocked for his sentimentality.

Sesshoumaru surprised them all, Kagome included, by answering his eldest in a voice that rang with sincerity. “My pups, the only fear I have ever known is the fear of losing you and your mother.” His eyes flickered across the faces of the younger children, who were gazing at him raptly. “The sight of your faces fills my heart with joy.” Sango let out a small, strangled sob and buried her face in Miroku’s shoulder; he tried to look affronted, but the tears in his eyes gave him away.

“When will you be coming home, father?” Souta asked, his voice mostly even.

“Your mother and I will remain here to support the efforts against the Dominion.” They knew better than to protest, though the younger children’s faces fell. “You will continue to serve as Lord of the West, pup. You have proven yourself capable. Your mother and I will return when we may.” Souta bowed.

For a long time they stood, both sides reluctant to end the communication; they were happy just to look at each other. Finally, at a broad yawn from Seiichi, Kagome shooed the children off to bed and told Souta and Sango that they’d call again soon. With one more longing glance at their father’s face, their pups ended the call.

Sesshoumaru’s shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, but Kagome caught it. Wrapping both arms tight around his middle, she snuggled up against him and kissed the pale skin at his collarbone.

“We did pretty well, I think,” she murmured into his shoulder.

He grunted quietly. “Our pups are strong.”

“Strong and brave and beautiful, like their father.” She smiled as clawed fingers ran through her hair.

“Strong and kind and honorable, like their mother,” he answered softly, brushing a kiss across her forehead.

She looked up at him and grinned. “And stubborn and pigheaded like both of us.” A low chuckle vibrated through her where she leaned against his chest.

“Indeed.”


	12. Chapter 12

Kagome was startled to find herself summoned, along with her mate, to the commander’s office almost as soon as their communication with their children was finished. Sisko was waiting for them with an eager gleam in his eye that made her slightly uneasy. He gestured for them to sit, and they did; Kagome snuck a covert glance at Sesshoumaru’s face, but as usual, he was giving nothing away.

“Welcome,” Sisko said, his voice unusually jovial. “Kagome.” He nodded politely to her, and she returned the greeting. His turned to greet her mate, offering him a similarly respectful nod.

“Captain.”

Sesshoumaru merely inclined his head in acknowledgement while Kagome’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times, her eyes growing impossibly wide. Smug golden eyes slanted over at her.

“You look like a fish, miko.”

That did it.

“ _Captain?!_ ” she all but shrieked, unable to contain herself any more. He lifted one dark eyebrow in that maddeningly condescending way of his. She grit her teeth and made an effort to lower her voice to a more reasonable volume. “And when, _mate,_ ” she hissed, “did you acquire that particular rank?”

He shrugged eloquently. Kagome turned exasperated eyes on Sisko, who seemed to be having a hard time containing his laughter. 

Finally, she dragged the story out of the two of them; the commander knew most of it, and Sesshoumaru’s infuriating reticence ended with the completion of the joke. On first coming aboard the station, Sesshoumaru had, apparently, invited (or, rather, encouraged) Commander Sisko and Constable Odo to look into his file in the Federation systems. In the early days of the Federation, he had made it his business to participate in as many levels of this powerful new presence as he possibly could – including passing their exams and becoming a ranked officer, which he did by the simple expedient of flying between his home and the academy in San Francisco in a ball of light; it took just long enough that everyone assumed he’d been hunting. His unsurpassed knowledge of military history, his tactical instincts, and his extraordinary martial prowess smoothed his road through the academy, and he progressed quickly through the program. He kept close ties with both the executive and military authorities on Earth – volunteering his services in subtle ways, but mostly just keeping an iron in the fire ... just in case. And, of course, mastering every technological upgrade as it arose, so that he could fly just about anything.

Kagome shook her head at him. “After eight hundred years, you think you know someone, then BAM, something like this comes along,” she drawled. “Seriously, Sessh, when were you planning to let me in on this?”

His smirk faded; he looked away, his jaw tightening. “I hoped it would never be necessary.” Kagome felt her own half-hearted irritation fading; he had been worried that new discoveries and new allies would also bring new threats – he’d been worried for a long time. And she’d never known.

Sisko took that moment to intervene. “Well, Captain,” he started, bringing them both out of their anxieties, “your record of service on Earth is extremely impressive, and you come with the highest commendations a Starfleet officer can get. Every military tactician who’s ever taught me has written in your file that they wish they’d had more time to study under you. May I count on your assistant in the upcoming war?”  
  
Sesshoumaru nodded. “Indeed.”

Sisko sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “Excellent. Now, then.” He began tapping at the computer screen before him. “To get you a ship of your own, and a crew...” he glanced up, meeting the youkai’s eyes. “I assume you wish to choose your own crew?” At Sesshoumaru’s nod, he continued. “Of course. There’s a new vessel being brought in ... this evening, actually, the USS Firebird.” He shook his head. “It’s almost as if this were planned.”

Sesshoumaru examined the claws of one hand, eyes unreadable.

A flashing message on Sisko’s desk alerted him to a docking ship – nothing our of the ordinary, save that something was niggling at the back of his mind about the previous time it was there. “USS Goraishi,” he mused out loud, allowing himself a moment of distraction from the task at hand.

“Kouga?” Kagome gasped. “They’re back?” 

Sisko snapped his fingers. “That’s right, it was your friends – the old man with the beard, and the three young ... firebrands.” Kagome snorted at the description. Yup. She glanced over at Sesshoumaru, to see if he showed even the vaguest hints of being excited or pleased to see the Eastern wolf-tribe again. He was still examining his claws. Which were flawless. A rusty cog clunked heavily into place in Kagome’s head.

“You _planned_ this!” she accused, eyes widening again.

He met her eyes, and that damned eyebrow slid up, making his crescent moon crinkle.

“Hn.”   
  
“ _Sesshoumaru_ ,” she cried, exasperated. “Did you orchestrate all this?”

“Hn,” he grunted again. “I may have made a few transmissions from the Jem’Hadar ship in case of such an eventuality.”

“You called in favors at Starfleet and got a ship, and called Yorozoku-sama back from his mission so that you could man your sparkly new ship with youkai.” Kagome summarized. He didn’t contradict her. She shook her head. She should be used to it by now – the man just didn’t know how to _not_ be completely in control of everything.

Sisko was listening with keen interest. “It seems your reputation is well-deserved,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Very well; choose your crew, and if you require any of mine – save my senior staff, of course – you have but to ask.”

Sesshoumaru inclined his head regally. Kagome rolled her eyes.

Before the afternoon was over, they’re reunited with their allies from the East, and Sesshoumaru had convinced Yorozoku to return to Earth to help train Souta as the newly-minted lord of the West, and to oversee the cardinal landholdings. Sesshoumaru and Sisko made appointments to discuss future tactics with the admiral of Starfleet, though Sesshoumaru insisted that he be allowed to see what they were up against before committing to a strategy.

The USS Firebird was rechristened, at Sesshoumaru’s insistence, the USS Shikon; Kouga, Ginta, and Hakkaku all accepted their new positions on her with unbridled enthusiasm. Kouga offered Sesshoumaru a small detachment of his own allies from the USS Goraishi, and to the shock of all – and Kagome’s particular delight – they were Klingons. As it turns out, Kouga affirmed, Klingons and youkai are well-suited as allies; their values and priorities are similar enough that they do not have the same cultural barriers with each other that both species found with other humanoids. Kagome immediately befriended a few of the Klingons (after knocking them around a little to establish her place in their new pack, of course); when she offered to be their sparring partners, to keep her own skills with the bat’leth honed, she was met with enthusiastic agreement. They were no Worf, but she could happily live with them. One of them, particularly, was an engineer with a keen interest in reiki; she looked forward to working with him.

Feeling somewhat disoriented by the suddenness of everything, the bewildering speed with which events were springing into motion, Kagome was the first to agree when someone suggested that they celebrate the new ship and her new crew in Quark’s. It felt like nearly the whole station crowded into the canteen with them – all the senior officers, all the new crew of the Shikon, all the friends and well-wishers she’d become so fond of during her strange, lonely time on the station. 

Snagging a seat between Julian and Dax, she glanced around her with a growing sense of unreality. Sesshoumaru and Worf had settled into a conversation about antique weaponry. Kouga had retreated to the far end of the room; she could barely seem him, but he seemed to be arguing with Odo about something-or-other while Yorozoku played mediator. Two seemingly irreconcilable worlds were there, irrefutably and inextricably enmeshed.

Dax nudged her and offered her a drink, jarring her out of her thoughts. With a grin, she accepted, and the two were soon debating the merits of holosuite onsens versus holosuit re-creations of the Risa steam pools.

...

“Mmm, I want another of these,” Kagome giggled, standing and stretching. Sesshoumaru was still deep in conversation with Worf, his drink untouched. She raised her eyebrows at Dax, who grinned and raised her mostly-empty mug with a grateful nod; glancing around the table, she got confirmation that no one else needed anything, and headed off to the bar.

“Two iced raktajinos with extra cream please, Quark,” she called, smiling at the Ferengi behind the bar.

“Comin’ right up,” he called over his shoulder. “Was it Dax who talked you into liking Klingon coffee, or were you born with bad taste?”

She laughed, the sound tinkling off the glasses that lined the walls. “It’s not my fault if those lobes of yours don’t add any subtlety to your palate,” she answered with a wink. She leaned casually against the bar, enjoying their banter as she always did. “I’ve always loved coffee, and I think the Klingons just might have perfected it.”

He snorted indelicately and placed two squat blue mugs on the bar in front of her. “Yeah, yeah, think what you like, so long as you keep buying it here,” he muttered. She grinned at him and raised one of the glasses in a mock toast.

“You.” The rough male voice was unmistakable. Kagome raised her eyes and glanced down the bar, unflinchingly meeting the gaze of the Klingon she’d humiliated weeks before – the one who’d pulled a knife on her, then tried to stab her in the back after losing in a fair fight. _Fabulous_. She set the drinks carefully back down on the bar, preparing for unpleasantness. Her friends – including her mate – were still engaged in animated conversation, and hadn’t noticed the looming confrontation. Good. She didn’t want anyone else involved.

“Any true Klingon would die before serving you, _bitch_.” She hadn’t had time to process his  quiet words before he lunged at her. She shifted smoothly into a defensive stance, but before he could even reach her, a gust of wind rustled her hair and made her blink. Sesshoumaru was standing in front of her, one arm anchoring her firmly to his broad back. He’d moved so quickly she hadn’t even been able to see him.

The Klingon rammed his fist into what should have been Kagome’s jaw, but was in fact the muscled chest of a very large, very angry daiyoukai. Without so much as blinking at the impact, Sesshoumaru glared down at the attacker with his implacable golden eyes. The Klingon – shorter than him by nearly a foot – looked up at him in fury, then in confusion, then in horror, then in dread.

From her place pressed against Sesshoumaru’s back, Kagome’s mind was whirling. He couldn’t just kill the guy; it would be a diplomatic nightmare! She buried her face between Sesshoumaru’s shoulder-blades and clutched the silk covering his sides, trying to convey to him that she was fine, that there was no harm done. When his low voice rumbled through the chest under her cheek, she held her breath.

“Attempt to touch my mate again and it will be the last act of your life.”  The words were spoken with no emotion; it was a simple statement of fact. The Klingon backed up, having finally realized that he was well and truly outmatched. He glanced around him, frantically searching for other Klingons to back him up; finding only Worf, whose disgusted gaze spoke volumes about his opinion of the man’s dishonorable behavior, he did the only thing he could think of. He fled.

Kagome slipped around Sesshoumaru’s big form and nestled against him, noting his rigid features, how tense and angry the lines of his body were. He had really wanted to dismember the guy. Rising on her tiptoes, she pressed a single kiss against the underside of his jaw in thanks – both for protecting her and for doing it without bloodshed.

He blinked as though waking from a dream, and looked down at her. Her adoring, grateful gaze, her little body molded against his side, her hands resting trustingly against his chest, her scent holding no tang of fear or bitter anger, her heartbeat calm and steady – his fury melted away, and he inclined his head to press a single kiss against her forehead. She made a soft, contented noise in the back of her throat and closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. His beast calmed, reassured that his mate felt safe and protected, even if he had not bloodied his claws as he’d wished. 

She drew back from him and looked up with a sunny smile, as if to be sure he was no longer on the verge of killing someone. He met her gaze for a moment, then turned his eyes back to their table. Kagome took that as a sign that everything was A-OK. She grabbed the drinks, sent Quark a broad wink, and returned to the table. Her mate followed silently, a protective hand on the small of her back.

When they returned to their table, all eyes were on them. Sesshoumaru slid wordlessly back into his seat, resuming his conversation with Worf as though nothing had happened. Sisko squinted appraisingly at him, then at Kagome, before finally retuning to his conversation with Kira. Dismissed.

Kagome handed Dax her drink and settled herself into the uncomfortable chair. Dax gave her a reassuring smile.

“I take it it’s in youkai nature to be protective?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink and closing her eyes in pleasure.

“Very,” Kagome agreed quietly, knowing that her mate was listening to every word she said. “And he’s ... very much the youkai.” She bit her lower lip and glanced away, eyes flicking sightlessly over the door of the canteen. “It makes me worry.”

Dax raised an eyebrow. “Good thing to have in a comrade,” she said neutrally, clearly trying to draw Kagome into expressing her worries more clearly.

Kagome sighed. “Yeah.” She sipped her drink, sending the youkai in question a sideways glance. His impassive face had a few little traces of his enjoyment on it; to anyone else, he would have looked as cold as ever, but she could tell he was very much engaged in his conversation with Worf. She looked down at her hands.

“For hundreds of years, we’ve been undefeatable. _He’s_ been undefeatable. And all it took was for those _bastards_ to manipulate his protective nature by threatening our child, and suddenly we’re on an exploding ship on the far side of the world, and he’s taken prisoner and experimented on, and I’m a drifting outcast left to the mercies of whoever happened to pick me up. Everything turned out OK – but frankly, it was luck.” She took a sip of the sweet coffee, barely tasting it. “I _hate_ luck.”

A low, even voice interrupted her. “For someone who’s been fate’s plaything for such a long time, you’re showing a remarkable resistance to accepting the idea of it.” Golden eyes were regarding her evenly from across the table. “Weren’t you the one who was dragged around in time for the sake of a bauble that needed destroying?” Eyebrows raised around the table; no one had ever mentioned time travel!

“That was different, though,” she argued, feeling a surge of helplessness welling up inside her. “I was dragged around by fate to solve specific problems. This all just reeks of ... chance. Chance, against a really well-organized, vicious enemy. If they’d tried to beam you off that ship a moment later, you would have died, despite your strength. If these folks had been a moment longer in beaming me off, if we’d been in the middle of nowhere, if we’d been closer to a Cardassian or Klingon ship than to a Federation base ...”

“Miko,” Sesshoumaru said, his voice pulsing with quiet authority. He rose and circled the table to kneel beside her. “They didn’t, and we weren’t. And now we face our foes together – foes that _we_ hold the key to defeating.” One deadly claw traced a ticklish pattern down her cheek. “The difference between fate and chance is faith. Will you give up on fate, when it clearly still has plans for you?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. He loosed his aura, and it flared around them in a momentary blaze them before winding around her like a caress, nuzzling at her soul. She allowed her own aura to rise up to meet his, and they twined together in a union far more intimate than any physical lovemaking. She lowered her forehead to rest against his, and took a deep breath.

Her eyes opened slowly, meeting his own golden gaze with renewed confidence. “With you at my side,” she whispered, echoing the rote of their mating day, “I will never lose my hope.”

“With you at my side,” he answered, “my courage will never falter.” She slid her hands up into his hair and pressed a kiss against the crescent moon on his forehead. 

“A toast!” They both started at the sound Miles’ cheery voice, having almost forgotten that they weren’t alone. Looking around, they found everyone nodding in agreement. Dax urged them to their feet as everyone else at the table stood, raising their glasses. “Commander,” Miles started, turning to Sisko, “would you do the honors?”

Sisko grinned and raised his glass. “To the new command crew of the Federation Starship Shikon,” he started in a ringing voice. Immediately, a hush fell over the canteen, and all eyes turned to them. One by one, the other patrons stood, lifting half-filled glasses. Sisko met Kagome’s eyes. 

“May your victories be swift and complete.” His eyes flicked over to the demon who loomed silently over Kagome’s shoulder. “May the ravens be sated in your wake.” Smirking at the open shock on Sesshoumaru’s face, he turned back to Kagome, offering his final blessing. “May your homecoming in the West be joyful – and come soon.” She couldn’t help the tears that filled her eyes as he called his final words. “To the Shikon!”   
  
“To the Shikon!” echoed the whole canteen, and Kagome’s tears spilled down her cheeks as her new friends toasted them. 

Sesshoumaru’s arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back flush against his chest. She smiled through her tears, and looked up at him with a new determination in her eyes. A wordless promise passed between them. Together, together they would fight the Dominion until their world was safe again. And then, together, they would return home.

That evening marked the beginning of the end of the Dominion War, as the Federation Starship Shikon took off into the dark.


End file.
